He let go of her breast and stepped back slightly, just out of reach.
“Take a seat, Stanton,” Alistair said crudely, spreading the woman’s buttocks with his hands to reveal the puckered hole within. “She can handle it.”
Henry smiled slightly. That rarely interested him, though he’d had his fair share of filling a woman that way.
“Not tonight, Hargreaves,” he said apologetically. “I’m afraid I have other arrangements. I merely came by to whet my appetite. But I’ll call on you. At the townhouse?”
“Yes, yes,” Alistair said, his eyes closing as he turned his attention away from Henry. Hips thrusting up.
Henry left the club quickly after that. He knew his destination now and he didn’t have much time. Alistair may just be getting going, but surely, in four years even that insatiable man’s appetites had slowed down. Henry likely only had three hours for his purpose.
Chapter Five
The Hargreaves townhouse in Berkeley Square had been the home of many of Henry’s sexual revels. Of course, then, Hargreaves’s daughter had not been in residence.
But if he was in luck and the staff had not changed, then they would be amenable to a bribe and let him in.
He went around the back to the servant’s entrance and rapped firmly on the door. It was well after midnight and a few minutes passed before a familiar footman sleepily opened the door.
“Mr. Bosworth!” Jack, the footman, cried after a moment of stunned surprise. “What are you doing at this entrance? The baron’s not in now.”
“I know that, Jack.” Henry pushed his way in, not wishing to stand so conspicuously out on the side path where servants from the house next door might see him. “I’m up to no good, as usual.”
Jack laughed. “Well, it’s been an age. If I remember, it was always the scullery maid you liked.”
“That and every other maid,” Henry agreed. “But I’m here to see Miss Carolina.”
Jack’s eyes opened like saucers. “I don’t think—”
“Shh, Jack, she’s expecting me, but her father isn’t, and if we can keep this between us…” He extracted three sovereign from his purse. It was a large sum but Henry had paid far more for a night with a woman he desired.
“Right you are, Mr. Bosworth.”
“Now if you’ll just show me to her room…”
Bemused, Jack did as Henry asked, leading him soundlessly through the house, up the main staircase so as not to awaken the other servants.
They stopped in front of the third door on the second floor.
He’d been in this bedchamber before, years ago. It had been rather bare then. He wondered if it was still the same, if Carolina now slept on the same mattress where he’d fucked any number of women. He and Alistair both.
Henry waved Jack away and then looked at the white painted barrier. His cock had become uncomfortably tight in his breeches and he shifted the weight with his hand.
The same hand then reached forward and slowly, so slowly, turned the doorknob. The well-oiled hinges opened without a creak and he slipped inside. He stood still in the pitch-dark room, letting his eyes adjust until he could make out the bed.
He took off his shoes. He shrugged out of his coat, his breeches next, and so on until he wore only his shirt and stockings. Then, he came to stand just by her.
She lay on her back, her arms stretched over her head, tangled in hair that he knew to be a rich chestnut brown. Her face lay tilted to the side, sumptuously exposing the long column of her neck. The top three buttons of her night rail were undone, offering him just the slightest glimpse of the upper curve of her breasts. He remembered the feel of that flesh in his hand, through the layers of her evening gown, filling his palm perfectly.
The counterpane and sheets beneath had been pushed down to her waist, and he reached forward to pull them back completely.
Carefully, he climbed onto the bed, watching her for signs of wakefulness, but she didn’t move as he settled his weight next to her.
Experimentally, he ran a hand up her leg, from behind her knee and up the silken skin, feeling the heat rising as he neared her center.
She moved now, shying away from his hand, her arms bending. He waited until she stilled before moving above her, between her legs.
He parted the swollen nether lips with his fingers, which fluttered against him like a heartbeat. He saw her eyelashes flutter as well, and before she fully woke, he guided himself in.
Her eyes opened sharply and she struggled against him.
“Shh, love, I couldn’t stay away,” Henry whispered into her ear, pushing deeper into her. She was hot and yielding, her thighs spreading further as she welcomed his cock into her.
“Henry?” she said disbelievingly, his name on her lips sounding like an erotic caress, as if she’d been saying it forever, as if they’d been lovers for longer than a few hours.
“Come, put your legs around me,” he urged. She did, wrapping her thighs around his hips, gasping as she felt the long, thick length of him slide all the way in, filling her completely.
“Why are you here?” she managed to ask and he laughed.
“You need to ask?” He pulled back and thrust in deep again, starting a rhythm, his left hand snaking under her buttocks to encourage her own movements. “I have thought of nothing but you since I was inside you earlier. I could not rest until I’d tasted you again.”
“But how?”
“Shh.” He kissed his way from her ear to her mouth. “I’ll answer your questions later.”
Then he placed his mouth on hers, nibbling on the plump flesh, and realized with a jolt that this was the first time he had kissed her lips.
He feasted on them now.
Her hands ran down his back, moving under his shirt, burning his skin with her tentative strokes.
He shifted the rhythm, pulling out almost completely, teasing her. With short strokes he pushed the head of his cock in and out, until she lifted her hips, trying to bring him deeper inside.
A soft mewling cry escaped her lips and she finally grasped his buttocks in her hand and forced him to do what she wanted. He sank back into her and gave himself up to the animal within. After all, it was what he wanted too.
Chapter Six
Much later, Henry reluctantly withdrew from her body. She was facedown on the bed, collapsed under him in climax. Her breathing was deep and even as it had been for the last few minutes.
He was tempted to have at her again, but it was late now and the servants would soon be awake. He needed to make his way from the house unnoticed.
As if reading his mind, a faint scratching sounded at the door, the signal Jack had said he’d give.
Henry managed to find his clothing and put it on in some semblance of order before he reached the door. He looked back at Carolina but she slept on, deeply.
He smiled with satisfaction. He’d used her well; she’d likely sleep late into the day.
Henry followed Jack out of the still-silent house. At the door, he thanked the footman.
“If you don’t mind me asking, Mr. Bosworth, how was she?”
“It’s Lord Stanton, now, Jack,” Henry said, by way of chiding him. “But I’ll tell you this. I’ll be back, so watch for me if you want to line your pockets a bit more.”
“Yes, my lord.”
Chapter Seven
Sometime in the morning, her maid entered the room and Carolina waved her away. When she finally awoke much later in the day, early afternoon, she stretched like a cat among the cool sheets.
If her body didn’t feel so…stretched, aching in all the right places, she would have thought it a dream. But no, she knew that Henry had been there, had somehow, beneath her father’s nose, snuck into the house.
He’d been so certain of himself, of his reception, that he’d been inside her before she even woke. And how had she received him? Like a cat in heat.
She wanted him again.
To think that just twenty-four hours earlier sh
e’d been petrified about entering society! Carolina had sat in the drawing room of her aunt, who had agreed to act as a companion for the season, and watched that lady sneeze in succession until she apologized that she would not be able to attend the ball that night. Alistair would simply have to go.
Carolina had wanted to feign a cold herself. But no longer. Now the season stretched forward before her as a buffet of carnal delight. The man of her most secret dreams desired her, pleasured her, and she knew he would again.
She breathed in deeply and smiled at the scent—the scent of Henry on her body. She almost didn’t want to bathe. She wanted to savor the aroma, to lie abed all day until he came to see her again.
He would come! He must come.
But she knew, too, that he’d look for her at the Emerson ball, because she’d said that was where she would be this evening.
So she rang for her maid.
Chapter Eight
The Emerson house glittered like the crown jewels. And as Carolina moved across the dance floor, the rainbow of shiny colors blurred around her. She struggled, as she had all evening, passed from one unwanted partner to the next, for a glimpse of Stanton. She wasn’t entirely certain he’d even arrived yet.
The dance ended and her partner, a Mr. Farthingdale, led her back across the room to her aunt Agathe. Agathe had assured her that Mr. Farthingdale, the son of her friend, was a good catch for all his not having a title just yet. As his uncle’s heir, he stood to be a viscount soon if that man continued to have no sons of his own.
Title or not, the slight, blond Farthingdale would never be the sort of man to impress Carolina. No. She had been ruined six years earlier when Bosworth’s image had become her ideal of manly perfection—black hair, a wicked gleam in murky green eyes, and long, muscular limbs.
Despite her partiality, Carolina knew better than to expect Stanton to ever ask for her hand. He’d told her in that library at Hargreaves House so many years ago that he would never marry. He loved a variety of women too much to ever imagine settling down with just one.
Perhaps he shouldn’t have said as much to an impressionable twelve-year-old, but considering what she’d just witnessed, Carolina hadn’t uttered a word of protest. Rather, she had imagined being one of that succession of women.
And now she was.
Aunt Agathe stood just before her, her silk gown a vibrant rose that reflected back upon her round face, making her look younger than her forty-some years. She had no gray, unlike her younger brother, and she took great pride in the fact.
“I can see you don’t care much for that one,” Agathe said irritably, after Farthingdale had left. “But you really shouldn’t make it so obvious to your partner. There is not an infinite number of eligible gentlemen. Beware, lest your father choose an old toothless lecher for your husband, as your grandfather did for me.”
“He’ll choose whom he wishes,” Carolina said frankly. She didn’t know her aunt very well. She’d grown up at Hargreaves House in virtual isolation. Even her father had rarely visited. Yet in the two weeks she’d been in town, she’d come to find that Agathe was someone with whom she could speak honestly.
“True, but if you find yourself partial to someone, I might be able to sway your father’s mind,” Agathe revealed, smiling conspiratorially now.
Carolina struggled to keep her face an impassive mask, but she had to look away as well to cover the hot flush that filled her face at the thought of Henry.
“Hmmm, Lord Stanton is approaching.”
Carolina looked up sharply, certain her decadent thoughts must have conjured him, and followed her aunt’s gaze to where Henry now walked, with that familiar erotic prowl, directly toward them.
“He’s a pretty man,” Agathe said, appreciatively. “A tasty piece as well.”
From those few words, Carolina knew that her aunt had bedded Bosworth. She looked at her curiously. Agathe had given up her widow’s weeds and remarried only a few years earlier.
“Don’t look at me like that, girl, it was before Mr. Mustlewhaithe!” But her aunt’s voice lowered quickly when Henry came to stand before them.
“Mrs. Mustlewhaithe,” Stanton greeted Agathe, bending low over her hand.
He straightened and turned his attention to Carolina.
“I had the pleasure of meeting your lovely niece last night,” he said, his sensuous smile nearly turning Carolina’s legs to puddles of flesh rather than anything sturdy enough to keep her upright.
“Did you, Lord Stanton?” Agathe said archly. “I’m not certain I like the sound of that.”
“Never fear, Agathe,” Stanton said, “your brother warned me away, at least until she’s safely married.”
Agathe laughed richly, her peals growing when she caught sight of Carolina’s flush.
“Did he warn you away from me as well?”
“No, but your husband did,” Henry lamented. “So I’ll console myself with a dance with your niece.”
“You hear that, Carolina?” Agathe prodded her when she didn’t move. “He’s asking you to dance.”
Carolina didn’t need any further encouragement. She took Henry’s arm and walked away with him.
“How are you?” he inquired in a low, more serious tone, when they’d passed earshot of her aunt.
“I’m very well,” she replied.
“Good.” He flashed that wicked smile again and they took their places in the dance.
She stood five feet away from him. His eyes, so dark and intent, surveyed her body. She felt the trail in a shiver down her spine and a sharp longing in her belly.
She’d never given much thought to how she looked, knowing that fine feathers made the lady and a dowry sold her to the highest bidder. Tonight, underneath his hot gaze, she knew she was beautiful, like Helen of Troy. Like Lady Godiva in all her nakedness.
She had the power to make Henry desire her, perhaps to make many men desire her, and the thought made Carolina feel dangerously wicked.
They were surrounded on either side by other dancers, but that hardly mattered. As she stepped forward to meet Stanton, to take his hand and switch sides, she tilted her head just so, watched him out of the corners of her eyes and offered up a coy little smile.
His left eyebrow rose sharply.
“Temptress,” he managed, in a low whisper, before the dance took him away from her, to take the hand of a lady nearby.
“Am I?” Carolina asked archly, when he met her once more. As their hands met, he ran a finger along the underside of her palm. The jolt of fire to the junction of her legs startled her and her lips parted, her eyes glazing.
It was an answer of sorts, she realized, but she was the one tempted.
“And how do I compare to my Aunt Agathe?” she teased, after another interval.
“You’re quite greedy tonight,” Henry answered. “But there is no comparison.”
Carolina stepped away from him, fiercely satisfied. She stared at him hungrily, forgetting to be subtle. The skin of his jaw, just above his cravat, begged to be kissed. She wanted to run her tongue along it, to suck on his neck, to lick his lips, to undress him and see his full body.
He met her gaze with a scorching, heavy-lidded one of his own.
The dance continued tortuously until Carolina, her nipples taut against the low bodice of her dress, and her legs moist with overflowing desire, took Henry’s arm to leave the floor.
“Beg off the next dance,” Henry instructed. “From the ladies’ retiring room there is a hallway; follow it to the end and take a right. The second door. Meet me there in ten minutes. Or sooner.”
She agreed with a look, her fingers playing with the soft underside of his wrist, understanding now just how sensitive that region was.
“Ten minutes will be an age,” she admitted.
Chapter Nine
Henry left her with Agathe, grateful that her aunt was engaged in conversation with Lord Weyburn and had missed the sexual undercurrents between him and her niece. Or perhaps s
he was merely ignoring them. It didn’t signify.
What did matter was how incredibly lucky he was. Somehow he had managed to stumble upon a woman who was quite obviously eager for everything he could offer her. Carolina didn’t even seem to mind that he’d fucked her aunt as well.
The second door down the hallway was a large linen closet used by the servants. With a handful of coins, Henry had commandeered the use of it for a few minutes. Not nearly enough time for his desires, but it would ease the tension until he came to her that night.
He pulled his gloves off, carefully folding them and placing the pair on a shelf behind him. He caressed himself through the cloth of his breeches as he waited, thinking of her breasts and what they would look like bouncing above him.
Tentatively, Carolina opened the door. He saw her in the dim light of the hallway and pulled her into the lightless closet, closing the door behind her.
His lips found her cheek and made their way to her open, waiting mouth, his tongue touching hers, dancing, thrusting.
She moaned into his mouth. Then he felt her gloved hands running down his body, searching under his coat, down further and playing with the outline of his cock.
He growled low in his throat.
“Unbutton my pants, take me in your hands,” he ordered and she followed his directions, pausing only to pull off her own gloves. The first touch of her bare fingers on him nearly made him come.
This would not be a long seduction with prolonged foreplay, but as he gathered her skirts up and reached for her hot folds, he knew it didn’t matter. She was wet and ready, dripping even, panting with desire.
“Yes, now, please!” she cried.
He lifted her by her buttocks, his hands gripping the yielding flesh. With one of her feet, encased in its delicate dancing slipper, finding purchase on a shelf, and her other leg wrapped tightly around his waist, he entered her.
On These Silken Sheets Page 3