Millicent put down her tea-dish. Portia hadn’t touched hers. She didn’t want tea, didn’t know if her stomach could take it. She was calming now, the conversation helping, but her stomach still fluttered with excitement. She knew more about him now. He was friendly, kind and he’d travelled abroad a great deal.
“Do you travel for pleasure, sir?” she ventured to ask.
He bestowed one of those smiles on her and sent her into the heights. “Yes, I do. I am a man of leisure, I fear, nothing substantial about me. It’s for that reason I’ve returned home. At my age I think it’s time I settled down.”
He didn’t have the bearing of a frivolous person. There was far more to his personality than that. He carried an air of authority with him for a start. Understated for the most part, but when he addressed servants or required something done, he did it with no equivocation. The current condition of this house and the speed with which he was turning the old manor into a habitable place attested to hidden strength.
She didn’t miss it because she missed nothing where he was concerned. He fascinated her.
“Ladies, if you’re done with your refreshments, would you care to see the rest of the house? I depend on your advice, for a feminine touch is something I can’t aspire to.”
Portia doubted he needed their help, but she appreciated his sentiments. This time he came to her and offered the support of his arm. “May I escort you, ma’am?” The way he said that reminded her of her scandalous behaviour the night of the ball. She wanted to do it again.
No shame shadowed her need. He shot a glance at her, frowned and then looked away, his smile firmly back in place. “Ladies, shall we?”
Millicent stood and Anthea followed suit. They showed no surprise at her taking his arm. His muscles flexed beneath the heavy fabric of his dark green coat. She couldn’t feel them, but the tendons in his fingers moved as if he had tightened his muscles for a second or two. The lace ruffles at the ends of his shirt sleeves trembled slightly. She would remember. She remembered everything about him.
He took them through the hall. They had seen some of the rooms before, but since the gentleman who lived here before had been a lifelong bachelor, they hadn’t visited once they’d attained young womanhood. He was too old to be of interest to young ladies, and their mother didn’t want to set the neighbours talking.
As if they would.
They would if they knew she’d spent time alone with the new bachelor at Thorncroft Grange. They’d do more than gossip. They’d chatter and accuse.
He took them through the rooms. They were all in a state of repair rather than disrepair. Unlike the parlour, they didn’t contain furniture, except for one or two pieces. He explained in the large dining room. “I have furniture in store. It should arrive next week. I may prevail on you once more once it gets here. I sent the items I acquired abroad to a warehouse in London, and I’ve ordered them shipped here.”
“Why, that sounds most exciting!” Millicent sounded genuinely thrilled. “Does your furniture come from all the ends of the earth?”
He laughed. “Only France, Italy, Bavaria, Prussia, Austria and Spain.” He paused. “And some from Switzerland.”
“Goodness, you travelled a long way,” Portia remarked. She meant it as a sally, a light remark that he could give an equally light reply to.
“Maybe I was looking for something. Or someone.” The glance he sent her made her shiver. Despite her stern reminders to herself of the nature of this flirtation, that look meant something more. Or seemed to. Her imagination, it had to be.
“I never realised how gracious this house is,” Portia said as they left the smallest room on the ground floor.
“The rooms upstairs are more so.”
She remembered. “I came here as a little girl. I saw the parlour downstairs and the drawing room upstairs, but he kept most of the things here in Holland covers.”
“I believe they were sold when he died,” Edmund remarked. “I venture to imagine they were of the dark, heavy variety?”
Anthea laughed. “Indeed they were, sir. At the time people thought they were perfectly in accord with the house, but you have covered up the dark panelling and suddenly it seems lighter.”
He’d done more than that. He’d painted the panelling, or covered it with new. He’d had the stone floors cleaned, and upstairs they discovered all the wooden floors had been sanded and refinished. Portia had never realised how light an oak floor could appear, and she loved the warm honey colour. It welcomed her, even though as yet there were no rugs or carpets.
Behind them Millicent cried out in dismay. “Oh my goodness!” When they turned around, she was ruefully surveying a rip in the flounce of her petticoat. If she walked forward, the tear would trip her. “Oh, how could I be so clumsy? Please go on, do. I’ll have it pinned up in no time.”
Anthea tutted and bent to examine the ruffle. “I can stitch this in a few minutes.”
“It will take ten at least,” Millicent said, and glanced at Portia. “Do, you go on. We’ll not take long.”
After appropriate exclamations of dismay, Edmund and Portia allowed themselves to be persuaded. Millicent already had her little packet of needles and thread out and Anthea took it from her.
Edmund quickened his pace, and indicated the stairs. “There’s another floor. Do you dare?” The warmth in his eyes said more than rooms awaited her upstairs.
Did she dare? Indeed. A few more kisses and some flirtation would make her visit complete. She should not, she knew it, but she wanted to.
Once upstairs he took her to a room on the other side of the hallway to the one where the sisters were ensconced below. He opened the door and waited.
Inside was a bedroom. Fully furnished, with Oriental rugs on the floor and gracious French furniture against the walls. The bed was draped with silk, drawn back with silk cords. The main colour was yellow, one that became her dark hair and pale skin, exactly the right shade of butter for her. Yellow brocade embellished the walls.
“This is lovely!”
He smiled. “I’m glad you like it.” He drew a breath, then hesitated. “May I—kiss you?”
She found his hesitation adorable. This worldly man paused? She’d expected him to take her in his arms and sweep her away, but he waited for her permission. Overcome with shyness, she nodded, heat rising to her cheeks. “If you please.”
His sigh sounded loud in the quiet room and at last, he slid his arms around her. Gently, softly, as if he waited for her to reject him, he encircled her. She wasn’t wearing a large hoop today. She rarely did, despite the strictures of fashion. Today she was glad she’d gone her own way and worn a more practical garment, because it meant he could hold her close to him. He kissed her, gently at first, feathering his lips against hers, then returning for another taste.
Portia strained up and slid her arms around him, one under his coat, around the silk of his waistcoat, warmed by his body, and the other around his neck. His skin against hers, the strength of him revealed for her to touch and claim.
He deepened the kiss before lifting his lips from hers and smiling down at her. “I’ve thought of nothing but your touch. I want your hands on me, my sweet. All over me.”
His bare skin with nothing between them. His breath heated her lips, unbearably intimate. “We can’t. My sisters—”
A rough laugh warmed her even more. Heat coursed through her. Every part of her yearned to get closer to him, nothing between them. Curiosity? Perhaps. At the moment she didn’t care. “I know. One day, I want that privilege.”
“There’s only one way—” At least, as a modest, respectable maiden there would be.
“We will find a way. Kiss me, sweetness.”
Eagerly she pressed her lips to his and when he touched her with his tongue, she opened her mouth. With a groan that reverberated deep in her throat, he thrust into her
with a carnal invitation she couldn’t deny.
She wanted this man. As he explored her, she responded with an alacrity she would have said was impossible to her but a few days ago. Edmund brought out a sensuality she had never suspected in herself before.
When he tightened his grip, dragging her close in an unbreakable hold, she moved into him, colluding in their mutual desire.
He nudged aside her linen fichu, gaining access to her breast. He stroked it, traced his finger over the upper slopes, raising a trail of awareness, luring her deeper. She went willingly. A mortal would recall their respectability and dragged away, maybe even struck him. Why should she do that when he was doing exactly what she wanted?
He lifted his lips from hers again, only to come at her from a different angle, one that deepened their kiss. Their tongues met, intimately embracing and caressing. He ate at her, sucking rhythmically, both of them lost in the wonder of their embrace. Once more she let him draw her into his world, going more than willingly. Sliding her hand up his neck, into his hair, the curve of his head braced against her palm, his hair silky against her fingers.
After finishing the kiss, he pressed his forehead against hers. They were both panting. “What you do to me,” he murmured. He drew away. “We cannot afford to return to your chaperones too disturbed, but I needed to claim a kiss. You bewitch me, sweet Portia. I’m yours to command.”
“No.” That didn’t sound right to her. “How can I be?” When she stroked his skin with her fingertips, he sighed and leaned into the caress like a cat having its head scratched.
“Because you do that. Because you’re so adorably innocent. And because you’re breathtakingly beautiful. Hush.” No fingertips this time, but his lips, stealing another swift kiss. “Yes, you are. You have something special about you, otherwise I’d have travelled on. The scenery I talked about on Tuesday with your mother was you. The first sight I got of you, I knew I had to get to know you. You drew me.”
Deep down she recognised flattery verging on the outrageous, but Portia basked in his regard nonetheless. She couldn’t resist teasing him. “You are not serious, sir. I know that much. We are but flirting.”
His laugh sounded loud, but only because he was so close. “That practicality enchants me. I want more of it, especially when you use it in such propitious circumstances. Yes, we are flirting, but I want to find out more. See if we have more.”
Startled, she jerked back. When she dragged her hand from his hair, he winced. “Surely you don’t mean that.”
“Surely I do. Not what you think. I truly want to get to know you properly. To talk with you, take you for drives, meet you at the next assembly—every possible way I can think of to speak to you. And a few occasions like this.” He set his hands on her shoulders, the warmth of his palms sending shock waves of arousal through her. “When we may kiss and be alone.”
“That would amount to courting.”
“Do you object?”
Object? Vigorously, she shook her head. “You must know that to pay me such particular attention will raise gossip.”
He nodded slowly, as understanding entered his eyes. “This is a small, close-knit society and if we decide we do not suit, they will say I jilted you. I won’t allow that. If that happens, we will say you jilted me.” A smile flickered over his lips, far too luscious for a male, and yet taut and essentially masculine on him. “We may employ your sisters once more. It’s natural I should ask them for their company when they’ve been so helpful this time.”
She raised a brow and stuck out her chin. “In what way, may I ask?” In proving such ineffectual chaperones?
He smiled wickedly. “In helping me decide on the interior of the house.”
“I suspect you will go your own way in any case.”
“I might.” Glancing around, he waved his hand, indicating the furnishings. “Don’t you recognise anything about this place?”
She shook her head. “It’s a lovely room.”
“It’s the colour of the gown you were wearing last Thursday.”
Catching her breath, she gazed around. He was right. That exact shade was the colour of her best ball gown, the one she’d worn when they danced. She had never imagined a more romantic gesture.
Of course, he might have had that colour silk in mind all along, or had it as part of his personal stock, the supplies he said he had in a warehouse. She chose not to believe that. It gave her too much pleasure to put faith in what he said. “I shall wear pink next time. Will you redecorate?”
He shook his head. “I want a reminder of that night always with me. I shall no doubt find some excuse to have a pink parlour or music room. Do you think the ladies of the district will recognise my ploy?”
“No.” The ladies of the district would be too eager to snag him for their own daughters to worry about niceties like colour. Besides, while he was a bachelor, they couldn’t pay formal visits. Even visits like hers today weren’t strictly allowed, but with Millicent to chaperone, nobody could gainsay their answering the plea of their new neighbour. It wouldn’t have been polite.
He kissed her again and they lost themselves in mutual pleasure until he called a halt, drawing back with a determined line to his mouth. “We should stop. I want too much. Could you feel me when I pressed close to you?”
With shocking frankness, he cupped the fall of his breeches. She shook her head.
“Will you?”
She drew a sharp breath. “I cannot.”
“You can. Perhaps I shouldn’t ask.”
Before he could get any further away from her, she copied his act, nudging his hands away before enclosing the hard ridge beneath the fabric. He flung back his head and groaned. “That feels so good! Oh, Jupiter, it’s been a long time!”
She didn’t dwell on his words, only the way he felt. His heat burned her palm even through his breeches and underwear. He would have drawers next to his skin and a long shirt tucked in. Some gentlemen did not bother with the underwear, the long tails of their shirts serving the same purpose. If she undid the six buttons separating her from his skin, would she find more obstacles in her way? Or fewer?
Unable to resist the temptation, she unfastened him. The buttons slid through the holes with remarkable ease. She left the top two fastened, to keep his clothes in place, and then she delved beneath the right side…and there he was. It took her but a moment to shove the folds of his shirt out of the way. Then his firm shaft was in her hand, and she could explore him to her heart’s content.
He watched her through half-closed eyes, the grey-blue glittering down at her as she explored him. She stroked his soft skin and discovered the heat he exuded came from this. His rod, his shaft, his cock. Her father didn’t mince his words on occasions, and neither did the men who worked for him. She knew all the words. What she did not know, hadn’t cared to discover before now, was what all the fuss was about.
All her senses yearned for him. She wanted to throw up her skirts and take him, just like this, standing in the middle of his room. But if she did that, he’d know what she was.
She didn’t trust herself not to release her mental barriers at the moment of culmination. If fingering herself gave her pleasant relief, what must it be like when he did it?
She couldn’t afford to find out. So when he reached for her skirts, she moved aside, not taking her hand from his erection, but preventing him from touching her. “No, Edmund. This is for you.”
When she gripped him and slid her hand up and down, he moaned and closed his eyes. She tried caressing the tip with her thumb, finding a drop of liquid there to ease her way. He opened his mouth, gasped.
Then he wrenched himself away, dragging her hand over him while he covered his cock with the copious folds of his shirt. She knew what was happening. He throbbed and pulsed into the linen, moisture seeping through to bedaub the back of her hand.
It w
as over, at least for this time it was. Lifting her hand slowly, she brought it to her lips and licked.
He watched every move greedily. His chest heaved and he bent his head, pressing a kiss against her mouth. “Thank you.”
She grinned saucily. “It was nothing, sir. I enjoyed it.”
“Having that much power over me?” He smiled. “You do. Did you like what you touched?”
“Oh yes.” More than she had words for. He felt wonderful. She couldn’t get her fingertips to meet when she encircled him. To her he felt large, but she knew little about men’s members.
She’d caught sight of couples making love, occasionally happened upon a copulating pair of locals in a field at harvest time, or in May after the wild celebrations the villagers indulged in, but she’d never seen the parts concerned. They always wore clothes, just moved them out of the way.
He took her hand, stroked it, then led her to the adjoining powder room where there was a washbasin and soft towel. “Only cold water, I fear, but if I ring for hot, the household will wonder.”
With a last kiss, he left her to wash her hands and recover from the intimacy. Not that she ever would, but she could restore herself to some semblance of respectability. She used the mirror in here to put her cap straight and set her curls in order, as well as her disordered fichu. Apart from that, he hadn’t disturbed her clothing. Not like she’d disturbed his.
Smiling, she stared at her reflection. Apart from lips that were somewhat redder and fuller than usual, she appeared much the same as she had when she’d checked her appearance that morning. Except that she wasn’t. Joy filled her, sending shafts of light to her toes and fingertips. He wasn’t merely flirting. He really wanted her.
The realisation still warming her, she ventured back into the bedroom, where he’d restored himself too. A heap of linen lay on the floor. He must have changed his shirt. He was tying his neckcloth when she returned. He already had his waistcoat on, half buttoned. The scene spoke of intimacy she hadn’t yet earned or deserved.
In the mirror, his gaze met hers and he smiled. She smiled back, no words needed. He finished with his neckcloth and buttoned his waistcoat.
Arrows of Desire: Even Gods Fall in Love, Book 3 Page 7