First the superfine, then the waistcoat and shirt. His naked chest and shoulders truly were glorious. His boots and pantaloons came next, followed by his drawers, and finally—finally—she saw Nicholas in all his naked glory.
Imagination was one thing. The reality far exceeded her expectations.
His long sable hair tumbled down onto those magnificent shoulders, his chest powerful, and covered in a dusting of dark curls that tapered down his defined abdomen to the thicker curls about his cock, his legs long and muscular above those “lean and powerful” feet. Feet which had obviously not been the subject of Rose’s remark at all!
Sally’s mouth began to salivate as her gaze returned to that proudly erect and aroused member; eight inches long, with thick veins standing out along its length, the head flowering out and covered in a fine sheen of moisture. The balls were drawn up tight beneath and covered in a light fur she already knew was slightly coarse to the touch.
Sally had traveled in Florence for several weeks the previous summer. She considered Nicholas’s body to be as beautiful as Michelangelo’s most famous marble statue, but infused with the pulse of life and heat to further enhance its beauty.
Her arms reached for him as he joined her on the bed, only to find herself suddenly flipped over onto her stomach. “Nicholas—” Her protest died in her throat as she felt the cool balm of his lips and tongue against her throbbing bottom. “That is… It is… Oh dear God, what are you doing to me…?” The last was an aching gasp at the intimacy of that soothing and stroking tongue against the heat of her flesh.
“You did not find this in any of your grandmother’s collection?” Nicholas mused, placing his hands on her hips to pull her up onto her knees before continuing.
Sally now lay on the bed with her face against the covers and her bottom sticking up in the air, and the things Nicholas was doing with his tongue were… “No.” Her voice sounded strangled.
“That is good. I should hate for our lovemaking to be in the least ordinary.”
Even the hot brush of Nicholas’s breath against skin that burned from being spanked was enough to send a frisson of heat to her core, and the things he was doing with that wicked tongue were—oh dear God, his thumb was against her nubbin now, stroking and pressing as a finger entered her.
“Do not stop!” Sally cried out as her body quaked and shuddered at this overabundance of sensations, pushing back against him, sobbing as she felt her release surge up and break in wave after wave of unimagined pleasure. Nicholas did as she asked, continuing to lick and plunder, to bring her to orgasm again and again, until her knees could no longer support her and she collapsed weakly down onto the bedclothes.
Nicholas gently turned her over, kneeling between her legs to admire the sleek and sated lines of her body.
He had enjoyed what the two of them had done together in London, and again on the way here, but he had not known what to expect from Sally as a lover. Reading of things in books was one thing, putting those words into practice something else. Especially when she freely admitted that reading her grandmother’s erotica had not prepared her for the intimacy they had just shared.
Sally constantly surprised him.
By being so accepting of the things he asked of her.
By holding nothing back.
By giving and receiving in equal measure.
She gave him her responses, without hesitation or inhibition.
He would have liked to suck on and play with her breasts for hours, to bury his face between her thighs and eat her pussy until she came again and again in his mouth. But he was conscious of the fact that her nipples were sore, and no doubt her nubbin equally so, when he had just brought her remorselessly to completion again and again.
Because he knew some of his anger had been directed at her, after all. He was many things he knew of: determined, stubborn, arrogant, cold if challenged—he had no doubt his enemies could add several more unflattering words to that list. But he had never given Sally, or indeed any other woman, reason to doubt his fidelity for the duration of their relationship. And, damn it, this woman had him so tied up in sexual knots, he didn’t even see any other woman but her. He had wanted to shock Sally just now for daring to think those things about him in regard to Vera Jackson.
And now he wanted to fuck her. Thrust inside her to the hilt, and keep on thrusting until his seed boiled and he pulled out to release all over her.
His balls and cock was full with that need, the latter stretched so tautly, the skin was pulled fully back beneath the swollen and engorged head, glistening with his pre-cum.
He could delay no longer. Needed Sally’s tight sheath around him as he pounded into her, taking her so hard and so deep, she would still feel his thickness and length inside her as they sat and ate dinner together later this evening.
Her discomfort would be a reminder never again to falsely accuse him of having gone from her to be with another woman—
“Nicholas, please…” She looked up at him in appeal, her eyes showing a need as great as his own.
Nicholas delayed no longer as he moved to position his cock against her entrance. She was so wet, and that wetness would help ease his entrance, despite his size.
Nevertheless, he went slowly, the feeling of those outer lips parting and stretching about his cock exquisite. Nicholas paused to enjoy the sensation. She was so tight, the walls of her channel still contracting from her earlier climaxes, those tremors stroking along his cock, as did the heat, urging him to go deeper.
“I want to go slowly, but…” He gave a shake of his head. “I need to be inside you now.”
“I want you inside me,” she encouraged, her hands moving to grasp the bareness of his ass as she arched up and impaled herself on his cock.
Her gasp of pain was unmistakable, as was the widening of her eyes and the biting down on her bottom lip, and for the briefest moment, Nicholas tried to convince himself it was only because of his size, that Sally could not really still be a—
“My lady!” A turn of the door handle accompanied that frantic cry, following by a loud knocking. Or maybe it just sounded loud because the bedchamber was so quiet apart from their ragged breathing? “Let me in, my lady,” Rose repeated urgently. “A man has arrived at the house with news of a fire.”
“Nicholas?” Sally tensed in alarm.
“Stay there,” he growled as he pulled out carefully so as not to increase her discomfort, his gaze fixed on her with disapproval as he rose to pull on and fasten his pantaloons before striding over to unlock the door.
“My lady, the butler will be here in but a minute—” Rose broke off with a squeak as she saw it was Nicholas who had opened the door, her eyes wide as she took in his nakedness apart from the pantaloons.
“Where is the fire?” Nicholas demanded. “Is anyone hurt? Answer me, damn it!”
“I—It’s the Dower House, my lord,” she stuttered. “One of the footmen came and… The Dower House is on fire, my lord!”
Chapter 13
Oxbridge Park has been in uproar since the night of the fire.
All the efforts to douse the flames at the Dower House were in vain, the fire having blazed on for several hours, and in the morning leaving only a shell of blackened bricks.
No one was hurt; even little Cesar was safely rescued. How could they be any other way when my darling Nicholas was at the forefront of that rescue?
She is still here, but only because Nicholas is too much the gentleman to tell her to leave.
He was very angry when she arrived at the Dower House offering to help. So angry he ordered her back to Oxbridge Park. She refused to leave, insisted she might be of help.
The silly chit should have known better than to refuse him. I do not believe I have ever seen Nicholas so angry as when he picked her up and threw her back into the carriage, instructing one of the grooms to accompany her back to Oxbridge House and see that she remained there. He gave the other man permission to tie her to a piece of furnit
ure in her bedchamber if she attempted to come to the Dower House again.
She has wisely kept to her rooms ever since.
To my knowledge, Nicholas has not so much as been near her. His time has been much taken up with the damage caused by the fire, and the health of his mother. The poor lady was very ill for the first two days, her chest having been affected by breathing in too much of the thick smoke.
If Lady Sally Derwent had any pride at all, she would accept that Nicholas wants nothing more to do with her, and so leave Oxbridge Park and never come back.
But if she will not leave willingly, I will see she is made to leave some other way.
No matter. I shall ensure Nicholas is rid of her unwanted presence.
I have dealt with others in the past. I will deal with her too.
Nothing, and no one, must be allowed to come between Nicholas and me.
Chapter 14
Sally knelt beside the open trunk in her dressing room. It was half-full with the underclothes she had thrown into it in a fit of pique just minutes ago. More for something to fill her time than any real intention of actually leaving Oxbridge Park.
It had been three days since the fire at the Dower House, and for much of that time, a part of Sally had wanted to order a carriage be made available to her so that she might leave Oxbridge Park immediately and never come back.
Another part of her said she would not go unless or until Nicholas told her to do so. If he ever deigned to speak with her again.
Sally had understood and made allowances for his anger toward her that night when she arrived at the Dower House, having followed him there in a carriage she had commandeered from the stable. She had understood his worry and concern for his mother’s safety and health.
Except she knew Nicholas’s anger toward her that night had not all been because she had arrived at the Dower House uninvited, in the midst of what was already a dire situation. That his initial anger had been caused by the shock of discovering she was still a virgin.
Sally had spent hours pacing her bedchamber since, her mood swinging from understanding his preoccupation with his mother’s health, to indignation regarding what she now considered to be his avoidance of her. What had Nicholas expected? That she’d taken a string of lovers before him, and he would merely be another name to add to the list?
It was a huge assumption for him to have made on so little evidence. Sally had never claimed to have had any previous lovers.
I never denied it either.
Well. No. She had not denied it. But some of the reason for her reticence was because she had not seen any reason to do so. What difference did it make whether she was a virgin or not? Every woman had to have a first lover, and she had chosen Nicholas as being hers.
Almost hers…
She would never forget the expression of shock on Nicholas’s face when he breached the proof of her virginity. His sudden stillness. The accusation in his eyes as he stared down at her.
Quite what he would have said and done if Rose hadn’t interrupted with news of the fire, Sally had no idea. Once over the shock, would he have continued to make love to her, or would he have pulled out and refused to complete their lovemaking? Her virginity was well and truly gone, so what reason would there have been to stop what had already been started?
Sally could have no answers to these questions when Nicholas was either deliberately avoiding her or was too busy even to remember she was here at all.
She had ventured out of her rooms for breakfast the morning following the fire, only to be told by a harassed Mrs. Jackson that the house was in too much disarray following the unexpected arrival of the dowager duchess and Miss Brockwell for a formal breakfast to have been prepared and served. Nicholas, it seemed, had taken his own breakfast in the kitchen much earlier that morning, with the servants who had been up all night with him helping to douse the fire.
Rose had subsequently delivered a breakfast tray to Sally’s suite, and she had continued to deliver Sally’s meals there ever since.
Sally had caught glimpses of Nicholas out of the windows in her bedchamber in the days that followed, as he strode to the stables and departed on his horse, no doubt to the Dower House. Rose, having become very friendly with one of the grooms, had informed Sally work had begun to salvage what they could from the wreckage.
Sally had also heard Nicholas’s voice in the hallway several times, and occasionally in the bedchamber adjoining her own, possibly as he conversed with his valet. But Nicholas had not presented himself to her or attempted to have a conversation with her.
Well, that would change this evening. She’d had quite enough of being left in her bedchamber as if she were some naughty child being punished for a misdemeanor. She refused to be shut away here any longer, would go downstairs tonight and seek him out, as Nicholas obviously had no intentions of coming to her. He would eat his dinner somewhere, and it was her intention to join him.
After which she would have her answer as to whether or not to pack the rest of her trunk and depart for London.
“Are you going somewhere?”
Sally snapped her head back to look at Nicholas as he stood in the doorway of her dressing room, hands behind his back. The pleasure of seeing him vied with irritation at the way in which he had appeared without warning. He moved with the silence and grace of a jungle cat.
She rose slowly to her feet, smoothing her gloved hands down the silk of her honey-colored day dress before raising her chin to turn and meet his enigmatic gaze.
His appearance was impeccable, as usual. Dark green superfine and a gold-and-green waistcoat worn over snowy white linen, and buff-colored pantaloons with brown-topped black Hessians.
His face was pale, however, features grim. His eyes were hard, cheeks hollowed, lips thin and unsmiling, the firmness of his jaw once again covered in a day or two’s growth of stubble.
Sally’s anger melted away at this physical evidence of the strain Nicholas had been under these past few days. She also felt more than a little ashamed of her own selfish thoughts minutes ago. His mother had almost died in a fire; of course Nicholas had no time to spare on thoughts, or otherwise, for the woman who had accompanied him to Oxbridge Park.
She shrugged. “It occurred to me, in light of what has happened, it might be best if I leave Oxbridge Park, and we delayed the sketches until after we are both returned to Town in the New Year.”
“All evidence to the contrary.” Nicholas straightened away from the doorframe to produce her sketch pad from where he had been holding it behind his back. “You have a remarkable memory for detail.” He frowned down at the first sketch on the pad. “So much so, I am not sure you are in need of the original model.”
Sally’s face first flushed, and then she felt the blood drain from her cheeks at the realization Nicholas was now looking through the rest of the sketches she had made of him in her large sketch pad during the past three days. A sketch pad she had left on the chair in front of one of the windows in her bedchamber and which he had purloined, and obviously looked through, without so much as a “may I” or “please.”
The “original” muse having been too busy or uninterested in sitting for her, Sally had drawn on her own memories to make the six sketches.
All of them of Nicholas at different stages in their relationship.
Nicholas sucking and drawing on her bared breasts that first evening in the orangery.
Nicholas dressed, her hand and arm visible down his unfastened pantaloons.
Nicholas above her as she lay on the table at the inn, his cock rampant, his expression one of aggression as he loomed over her with the obvious intention of thrusting that cock into her mouth.
Nicholas completely and magnificently naked.
Nicholas’s long dark hair spilling across her thighs as his fingers pleasured her.
Nicholas on his knees between her legs, cock so swollen and engorged, Sally had doubted she would be able to accommodate the length or the width.
&
nbsp; All of them drawn during the past three days, and none of them meant for Nicholas’s own eyes.
Because there was something else in all those drawings, if one knew to look for it.
Love.
Each pencil line, every shadow, had been made with love for the man who was the focus of each and every drawing.
Sally’s love for Nicholas.
She had not spent all her days in her bedchamber fretting and fuming, had realized after the first drawing that something was amiss. By the time she made the last drawing of Nicholas as he was about to enter her and discover her virginity was intact, she had known exactly what that something was.
She had fallen in love with Nicholas Sefton, the Marquis of Oxbridge.
Worse—she believed she might have always been in love with him. She had certainly been infatuated with him for a very long time, since her coming out seven years ago, in fact.
Nicholas had always been the first person she looked for when she arrived at any social occasion—and was more often than not disappointed, but always elated on the occasions when she did see that familiar dark head among the crowd.
As the years passed without so much as an acknowledgment of her existence from him—apart from the occasional duty dance, during which he had not so much as spoken a word to her, and she had been too tongue-tied to speak to him—she had succeeded in repressing the feelings she had for him and carried on with her life of independence, determined never to marry.
Not, Sally now realized, because she wished to be either of those things, but because the only man she wanted in that way was so out of her reach as to be like one of the stars twinkling overhead in the sky at night.
All of that, the maelstrom of emotions she felt toward Nicholas, was revealed in those sketches she had made of him. If one only knew to look for it. Or if one wanted to look for it. Which Nicholas did not.
“Perhaps you are right.” She snatched the sketch pad out of his fingers and threw it inside the trunk, firmly closing the lid before sweeping past him and into the adjoining bedchamber. “In any case, I believe it would be more…convenient for everyone, if I were to leave later today.”
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