by Gayle Callen
But no, he was not that kind of man. She knew he felt guilty over what they’d done. Somehow she would have to make him see that the blame for their indiscretion must be shared.
Sleep came too easily to her that night. The swim and what happened afterward must have exhausted her more than she’d realized, because she never blew out the candle, never even awoke when Simon came into her room. She only knew he was there when she half opened her eyes and saw him sitting in a chair beside her bed, his head resting in his hands, his blond hair shining in the candlelight.
For one moment, she let herself believe he had changed his mind, that he loved her and wanted to marry her.
He lifted his head. “I can tell by your breathing that you’ve awakened.”
“Very clever of you,” she whispered.
“I didn’t mean to come here.”
She said nothing, but her hopes faded away.
He sighed. “I can’t sleep for thinking about how poorly I introduced you to lovemaking. Have you forgiven me?”
She drew in a breath, shocked by how quickly her skin flushed with heat at just the memory of what they’d done together. “If that was poor, then no wonder people can’t help themselves from seeking out pleasure.” She reached out to touch his arm. “As I told you earlier, there’s nothing to forgive.”
He put his hand on hers, caressing gently, almost absently. She stared at him in sorrow. He was going to leave things as they were. There would be no proposals of love, no talk of weddings. She only had this last night with him, this last chance to be happy in his arms.
And she was going to take it.
She sat up in bed and pushed the blankets down. After unbuttoning her nightdress, she pulled it over her head and tossed it at Simon. It hit his face and slid down his arms. He reared back, and in his expression she saw understanding—and passion.
How could he feel this way for her and not love her? Was she fooling herself to think this would show him?
“Louisa.”
He said her name in that low, throaty way that made her insides turn to mush.
“That was my nightdress,” she said.
“I could tell. It was warm and smells like your skin.”
She sighed, letting rising pleasure wipe away any sad thoughts. “I’m sitting naked in the middle of this big bed.”
He didn’t move, only closed his eyes.
“And now I’m lying back and stretching my arms wide.”
He groaned. “What else?” he whispered.
“I’m unbraiding my hair and spreading it across my pillow.”
“Does it look like a fiery sunset?”
She blushed. “Yes.”
“Do the curls curve around your breasts?”
So he wanted even more detail. She warmed to the task. “Yes. And they tickle.”
“So your nipples are hard.”
She covered her face with her hands. Talking about such intimacy was more difficult than she’d imagined. “Yes,” she whispered.
“Touch them.”
She gasped, but she was caught in the spell of his intensity, the way he was leaning forward in his chair, so close to the bed.
She cupped her own breasts, but it was not the same as his hands on her, his desperation to have her. She needed him to touch her.
“I’m parting my thighs.”
With a growl, he rose to his feet, hovering over the bed.
“I need to see you,” she whispered, then realized how that might sound to a blind man. “Oh, Simon, I shouldn’t have said—”
He pulled his shirt over his head. “I take no offense, believe me. I’m flattered.”
His chest took her very breath away. It was wide, and scattered with blond hair, and sculpted with muscle from his rowing. They’d shared the most basic intimacy between a man and woman, yet she hadn’t even seem him nude.
“Now your trousers,” she said, and her voice was almost a squeak.
He grinned. He unbuttoned and dropped them to the floor. His drawers poked toward her in a very obvious way. “Don’t tell me you want me to leave these on.”
She licked her lips. “Remove them.”
He bent over as he slid them down, and she was disappointed that she didn’t see the rest of him yet. She knew he was shedding his shoes and socks. When he stood up, she sucked in her breath. His penis hung large and full and it was a shock to think it had fit inside her.
And then he walked away, down to the end of the bed. She came up on her elbows to appreciate the movement of his buttocks. He ran his fingers along the bed, then rounded the post to the end. He put both hands on the bed, leaning toward her.
Her breath faded away in excitement.
“Are your legs still spread?” he asked.
She nodded, then cleared her throat. “Yes.”
“Spread them wider.”
Not for the first time, she wished he could see her. But there were other things he could do, and he began them in a slow climb onto the bed. On hands and knees he crawled toward her, looking so big and male. He trailed one hand out to the side until he found her foot. Then he bent and placed a kiss there.
She moaned his name, never imagining that such a simple thing could feel so wonderful.
He continued to crawl, kissing his way up the inside of her leg. Her tension mounted as she realized his aim. She could barely lie still when he tasted her inner thigh. His head accidentally brushed her cleft, and she gave a startled jump.
He chuckled and retreated, beginning again with her other foot. She was trembling by the time he reached her hip. For just a moment, he paused above her, as if giving her time to consider—or imagine. With his hands he gripped her thighs, his thumbs dangerously close to the moist depths of her.
Then he bent his head and placed a gentle kiss on the curls guarding her entrance. She bit her lip to keep from crying out. Though she shook under him, he didn’t stop, kissing deeper and deeper. Pleasure swirled and rose higher, faster, clutching at her chest, restraining her breathing.
Then he licked her. His hot tongue circled and explored until he sucked the tip of her into his mouth.
She came apart then, convulsing and rocking, but still he didn’t stop, only moved lower until he tasted the inside of her. He spread her thighs, tilted her hips higher, taking everything she had.
When she lay gasping and sated, he crawled farther up her body, until his hands rested on either side of her shoulders. His erect penis hung suspended above her hips, and before she could think about being shy, she reached out and took him in her hand.
He arched his head back and shuddered.
“That feels good?” she whispered.
“You have no idea.”
“Well after your demonstration, I think I do.”
She played with him, stroking him, learning the softness and the strength of his very male body. His arms gradually bent at the elbows, as if he could no longer hold himself up.
“Enough,” he said harshly.
She pulled back, uncertain, but all he did was lower his hips to hers and thrust deep inside. It didn’t hurt this time, but she felt stretched and filled, as if she were meant to accept only him.
He held himself still and leaned down to take her mouth in a deep kiss. “If you had continued to touch me, I never would have made it inside you.”
She smiled and settled back into the pillows, feeling wickedly satisfied. When he started to move, he reawakened her own passion. She gave herself the freedom to touch him, to stroke his face, to memorize the muscles of his chest and arms. When she plucked at his nipples, he trembled and stroked harder, faster.
He found his release before she had a chance to catch up to him, but she didn’t care. She held him as his shudders subsided. He was big and heavy, and she had never imagined so enjoying the weight of him.
But finally he rolled off her and settled back amid her pillows. When he pulled her against his side, she sank happily into the crook of his arm, her head resting against hi
s chest as she looked up at him.
His expression was pensive, even sad, though he stroked her hair gently. The spell of their lovemaking faded, and the sorrow returned.
“Louisa, I need you to understand that this hasn’t changed things for me. I don’t mean to marry.”
It was no surprise, although her heart broke all over again. She put her finger to his lips. “Shh. I know. I don’t expect it of you. And I would never want to force you into marriage. I told you how much I cherished our time together, and it’s true.”
But oh God, she felt the tears rise unbidden into her eyes. As they started to spill down her cheeks, she pulled away from him, patting his chest so he wouldn’t think her too abrupt.
Simon stilled as Louisa left the bed. He heard the sound of water pouring into a washbasin. He told himself she had entered into this affair with a clear understanding of his intentions.
But as she’d left him, he’d felt a tear splash to his chest.
Did she think she was in love with him?
Didn’t she understand that he would always think of it as pity? If ever he gave in and married her, someday she would regret it. The novelty would wear off, and their marriage would die.
And then he would be the only one in love.
Though he might be breaking her heart right now, she would be the better for it in the end.
Chapter 22
The next afternoon, Louisa sat alone on the terrace, looking out over the garden to the lake beyond. She could just see the curve of the far shore, and the beginning of the copse of willow trees. She knew she had to learn to forget what had happened there.
Sipping her tea, she contemplated her future, proud of the logical way she was dealing with her life. After Simon had dressed last night, his sad regrets did not change anything. He’d left her to sleep alone, and she’d lain awake long into the night.
Her love was hopeless; she understood that now. She’d helped him grow and change and accept that his blindness didn’t mean an end to his old way of life. She had to give herself some small congratulations on that.
But he could not “see” himself as a married man. Intimacy with her had not changed that.
It was time to return to London, to try to find her own life, because it wasn’t going to include Simon. She could not quite give up hope that her dream to help girls prepare for their first Season wasn’t dead. The women she daily encountered here knew nothing of her reputation; why would the newly rich industrialists have heard? Or at least their wives, the ones who mattered as far as hiring Louisa. If the men in the families knew otherwise, she would deal with it as it happened. She was no longer an innocent, and she could take care of herself.
She even had an alternate plan; she could always live with her sister Victoria in London. Louisa had a dowry at her disposal, and there would be men who wanted to marry her. She would have to accept one of them eventually, but she was confident she could choose a decent man who would accept her good intentions for the marriage, though she did not come to him a virgin. She would never love him, of course, but she had the memories of Simon to sustain her.
Her grief welled up again, surprising her. She had already decided to turn him away the next time he came to her. She had taken the risk of loving him, and had failed. Giving herself over to the pleasure of him could only lead to their being caught in a compromising position, or worse, leaving her with child. In her early plans, she hadn’t considered the innocent life of a baby. She’d been swept up in her excitement, in her need for Simon. Might she even be pregnant now? She would not allow herself to panic until she had to. But she could not be so careless again.
So she would leave, and soon. She was surprised how sad she found the thought of leaving this wonderful family. Lady Wade treated her as a granddaughter, and Georgie shared confidences as a dear friend…or a sister. Even Mr. Wade—Leo—had brightened her days. She had long since put aside the immature ways he had once pursued her.
As if she had conjured him, Leo came out of the manor and stood beside her, arms folded over his chest. He glanced down at her with amusement, then out across the grounds.
“Well, is the view as lovely as your preoccupation with it suggests?” he asked playfully.
She smiled up at him, patted the chair beside her, and hoped he could amuse her. She had to lift her spirits, or be reduced to crying.
“Well, that’s interesting,” Georgie said.
Simon was sitting at his desk, but he knew his sister stood at the window. “What’s interesting?”
“I can see Leo and Louisa laughing together on the terrace.”
A knot congealed in Simon’s stomach, and he told himself to ignore it. After all, Louisa could have any friends she wanted. And by insisting that they would never marry, he’d freed her to pursue a life without him.
But with Leo?
Simon knew he was overreacting. She had always been a woman at ease with men. That would do her in good stead finding a husband.
But the pain in his heart burned steadily, and learning to ignore it might take a lifetime.
There was always Georgie to worry about.
“Paul has been visiting quite a lot lately,” he said.
“Yes.”
She was doing a good job of sounding perfectly normal.
“And it seems like more than a friendship might be developing between you.”
“We’ll see.”
“Do you think that’s a good idea?”
He heard her flounce into the chair beside him. “I can’t believe you’re saying this to me in that dubious-sounding voice. You’ve wanted me to go out in Society, to find my own life. A man starts calling on me—a good friend of yours!—and now you have reservations?”
He sighed. “I’m worried that you’re settling for him because he’s an old friend, and therefore less intimidating than a stranger. You’ve barely had a chance to meet men.”
It was her turn to sigh. “Simon, you’ve wanted me to grow up and live my own life. Well I am. As long as I choose a man acceptable to you, you need to allow me to make my own decisions. I don’t need rescuing anymore. Unlike Louisa.”
He was startled and uncomfortable at the sudden change in topic. “Louisa? This isn’t about her. She’s strong and independent, and doesn’t need rescuing, especially by me.”
In a disdainful voice, she said, “You must be blind.”
He opened his mouth, but couldn’t think of a retort. What did Georgie see about Louisa that he didn’t? Did Georgie actually think he should…pursue Louisa?
She left him sitting there alone.
Louisa spent the afternoon as she’d begun her stay at Enfield—doing embroidery with Lady Wade and Georgie. It was a comfortable, peaceful, sad feeling, and Louisa didn’t converse much as she tried to find the best way to tell the two women that she was leaving.
The butler interrupted before she spoke, and intoned, “Ellen, Viscountess Wade.”
Louisa saw Georgie and her grandmother exchange shocked glances, but both swept to their feet and Louisa followed. Georgie’s mother strode into the room, full of purpose and command, and came to a halt, wearing an intimidating frown. Her blond hair, lightened with white strands, was swept up elegantly. She had a handsome face in a remote, cold way that might have been truly beautiful with a more pleasant expression.
She opened her mouth to speak, and then she saw Louisa. Her eyes widened, then narrowed, and Louisa felt the first whispers of unease. Ellen, the younger Lady Wade, did not look exactly friendly.
The dowager viscountess smiled at her daughter by marriage. “Ellen, you’ve come so quickly from Scotland. I would have thought my invitation had only just arrived.”
Georgie stared at her grandmother in shock. “Mother, I didn’t think you needed an invitation to visit Grandmama and us.”
Lady Wade—Ellen—looked at her mother-in-law. “The invitation to the house party only just reached me, but I had already packed to come…visit.”
Sh
e glanced at Louisa, who felt that cool regard like an icicle dagger.
Georgie turned back to her grandmother. “House party?”
Lady Wade smiled. “Ellen, first allow me to introduce my companion, Miss Louisa Shelby. Miss Shelby, my daughter-in-law, Ellen, Lady Wade.”
Louisa curtsied silently, submitting to Ellen’s deliberate perusal. Ellen nodded and turned away.
Well, Louisa thought, as they all sat down, Simon’s mother would be thrilled that Louisa wasn’t permanently joining her family.
“House party?” Georgie prompted again.
“This weekend,” Lady Wade informed them. “I took the liberty of inviting several couples—and many eligible young men.”
Georgie groaned. “Grandmama—”
“I decided this before your recent preference for Mr. Reyburn, Georgie my child. Do not be angry with me. And if you do not wish to enjoy the attentions of bachelors, Louisa certainly can.”
Louisa felt her face redden as they all turned to stare at her. “Lady Wade,” she began.
Ellen interrupted. “So you are matchmaking for the servants now, Mother Wade?”
“Louisa is my companion,” Lady Wade said coolly, “not a servant. She is a gentlewoman.”
Ellen’s glance in Louisa’s direction clearly showed that she was doubtful.
And then Louisa understood—Ellen must know about Louisa’s reputation. And she was obviously not happy that Louisa was in such close proximity to her children.
Louisa would have gladly packed and left before the house party, but she knew that Lady Wade would be hurt. And the older woman had been so kind to Louisa. No, Louisa would have to endure the house party—and leave immediately afterward.
“What is this about Mr. Reyburn?” Ellen said to her daughter.
“He frequently visits because he lives nearby,” Georgie said firmly. “You know how close he is to Simon and Leo.”
“And now to you?” Ellen said with obvious doubt in her voice.