On These Silken Sheets

by Sabrina Darby

  He needed to possess her, to make her his the way he had thought to make Amphitrite his. He drew her toward him, his lips finding hers, and she came alive in his arms.

  They melded together in a hard, fierce branding. He took her to the bed, his hips nestling between her thighs even as he moved from her mouth to the arching column of her neck.

  His cock parted the damp flesh. He thrust into her, groaning at the sensation of her hot, tight muscles spreading to accept him and then hugging him tight.

  He withdrew only to thrust again, deeply, till there was nothing between their bodies, and the heavy weight of his balls fell flush against her.

  He found his pace—long, hard strokes. Her hips rose to meet each thrust.

  Her thighs clenched his hips, her hands ran over his back, kneading the muscles till he thought he would melt inside her, enveloped by her body in every way possible.

  He tugged at her earlobe with his teeth and ran the pointed tip of his tongue over the skin.

  Her body tensed. He circled his hips, using his cock to find the places that made her cry out.

  When she finally came, arching against him, her whole body clutched him. Her climax pulsed around him, milking him, and dragging him to the peak of his own orgasm.

  He released himself into her in hot spurts, his hips bucking into hers, pressing her deeper into the bed, his cries guttural and delirious against her neck.

  The fire dampened, the red haze receded. In that sated moment, Oakley knew clearly, this earthly woman was a goddess too.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Your brother won’t be sent to Venezuela, then?” Maggie asked, her head nestled on his shoulder.

  The sun had risen an hour before but despite the rules and boundaries they had laid out on their first night together, neither Oakley nor Maggie made any effort to move from the embrace.

  “No. More likely the Peninsula, but who knows? For now, he’s in Cork.”

  The difference in his situation amazed Oakley. Though the mysterious edge that had tinged his encounters with Amphitrite was absent, this affair with Maggie Coswell satisfied him in every way. Simply knowing that he could find her, communicate with her easily, made it more possible for him to concentrate on other matters.

  And he found he could talk to her about anything, from the brewing storm in the Peninsula to his political ambitions. She slipped from lover to advisor easily, listening carefully to everything he said.

  He found he liked the simple domesticity of these post-coital moments.

  Although he sometimes still wondered who Amphitrite was and why she’d ordered him to leave so abruptly, he found her increasingly absent from his thoughts, relegated to the fringes—a woman with whom he’d shared a playful interlude but nothing deeper and lasting.

  “I’ve never been to Ireland. I’ve heard it’s lovely,” Maggie said. “Green, blue and wet.”

  “That sounds like England,” he pointed out, laughing, caressing her breasts with an idleness fast gaining purpose.

  “You’re right,” she agreed. “I should have said greener, bluer and wetter…”

  As wet as she was, beneath the tight, damp curls, under his searching fingers.

  Maggie came to know that flat the way she had known the bedroom at Harridan House—the scents, colors, pattern of light on fabric as the hours of the day changed. This time, however, she wore no mask. The difference was infinite.

  Without the need to conceal identities, Maggie found the peaceful moments between bouts of lovemaking filled with conversation. She’d known already he loved poetry and despised hunting, claiming there was no sport in torturing an animal. He now spoke of his ambitions, his ideas for their country. He spoke of his family and the responsibility he’d had for his younger siblings since his father’s death.

  She found herself sharing un-loverlike stories of her life in Exeter, stories of her daughter, her late husband even.

  Maggie thought that this intimacy, this sharing, had grown deeper in two weeks than four years of marriage had forged with her husband. She never wanted the halcyon days to end.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  I’m having a dinner party,” Diana announced the moment she flounced into Maggie’s sitting room in a new straw bonnet that made her look like a girl fresh out of the schoolroom. “I’m giving Lord Shelby his congé.”

  Maggie laughed. “And here I was thinking that you look much more like my cousin from the country than Lady Blount, secret purveyor of all things illicit.”

  “Not all things, darling.” Diana winked, untying her bonnet. “Does this silly hat really make me look so unsophisticated?”

  “Very much so,” Maggie admitted apologetically.

  “Wonderful!” Diana smirked with a devilish glint in her eye. “Then it will be just right for my purpose.”

  “I’m not certain I want to know.” Maggie grinned back. But of course she wanted to know. Her own thoughts weren’t far from the gutter. It had been three days since Olivia had returned, and Maggie hadn’t found a moment to get away to see Oakley.

  She’d grown rather spoiled in the previous fortnight, finding it easy to leave Emma to her studies or the nanny for a few hours here and there.

  She was extremely frustrated, and from the letter he had sent, she was quite certain he was as well. “So is that the reason for the party?”

  “A small one, yes.” Diana grinned. “I’m inviting two lovely young men whom I’ve had my eye on. I thought perhaps I should invite your Lord Oakley as well?”

  The very thought skewered Maggie with its brazenness. Oakley and she together in public?

  “Is that wise?”

  “No one will know the two of you are having an affair,” Diana reminded her. “Really, it isn’t as though you haven’t been to the same private events. It will be vastly fun. Although the last time I talked to the man he didn’t listen to a word I said. If he wasn’t so sweetly handsome, I’d ask what you see in him.”

  Maggie considered the idea. She couldn’t find any real reason not to go. Except for one…

  “Are you inviting Olivia? She’ll be devastated if you don’t.”

  “And I should care?” Diana raised her eyebrow, but then she grinned again. “I did invite her to that play. She chose not to attend.”

  “Not that she’ll see it that way.” Maggie sighed.

  “True,” Diana conceded. “Don’t worry, I was merely teasing. I would never think of not extending the invitation.”

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  From the street, Diana’s townhouse glowed with candlelight, and for a moment Maggie had the sensation that when she crossed the threshold she would be met with a decadence equal to Harridan House.

  Then she climbed the stairs, the butler opened the door, and she saw instead the same elegantly decorated house she had visited numerous times before.

  “Thank you for the use of your carriage,” Maggie said as they embraced. “I simply didn’t feel comfortable sending Livvie off to her aunt’s house in a hired hack.”

  “Of course.” Diana waved her hand dismissively and then took Maggie by the arm. “I’m so glad you are here first. I have been trying to decide for the last hour whether I want to seat Lord Donavan to my right or Mr. Travistock.”

  She dragged Maggie with her into the dining room. The long table had been beautifully laid out with the best china, crystal and linens. It was a far cry from the small house Diana had lived in near Exeter.

  “You do realize that after all of that, with Olivia not attending, I had to invite Jane Cooke to even the numbers,” Diana whispered as if they weren’t alone, looking a bit put out despite the smile that curved her lips. “You have not had the fortune of meeting her yet, but I shall make certain after dinner that you do.”

  Maggie was willing to meet whomever Diana wished. Nothing seemed to dampen the excitement brimming within her. Soon, Oakley would arrive.

  Torture.

  Oakley shifted uncomfortably in his chair once
more. His cock was hard, had been hard from the moment he’d caught a whiff of Maggie’s perfume.

  He should never have agreed to attend Lady Blount’s dinner party.

  But starved for the sight of Maggie, for her scent, he’d jumped at the invitation. And here she was, standing just a foot away, her hair caught up in a Psyche knot, a few tendrils left to graze her neck, to tease him and make him want to place his mouth where the silken strands touched silken skin.

  He’d forgotten how the strictures of society would keep them apart even when they sat merely five feet away from each other.

  Society, and more specifically, Jane Cooke. Why Maggie had chosen to sit by the woman was beyond him. The lady was horse mad and had no other conversation. Not that he couldn’t hold his own in a conversation about Arabians or Thoroughbreds, but too much was rather tedious.

  “You aren’t listening again, Lord Oakley.” Lady Blount chided him and he forced himself to look at her. “I’m not certain if it’s my company or simply that you’d rather have another’s.”

  His gaze flitted back toward Maggie.

  She looked delicious in her ochre dress, the clever undergarments and low neckline revealing the creamy swell of her breasts.

  “Yes, I suppose you’re right,” Lady Blount continued, and for a moment Oakley wondered what he had said that she agreed with. “You’ll simply have to give Mrs. Coswell a ride home. I can’t part with my carriage again tonight.”

  Oakley glanced back at Lady Blount in surprise. Comprehension dawned.

  “You’re very astute, my lady,” he said, appreciatively. “And I am extremely grateful.”

  “Or you will be.” He heard Lady Blount murmur as he turned his attention back to Maggie.

  She looked like a ripe fruit he wanted to pluck from the tree and eat.

  Now, Oakley had plans for that fruit.

  Chapter Thirty

  The following day, Oakley called on her as if his intentions were honorable, in full daylight of every respectable matron staring out her window. Maggie kissed her daughter on the cheek and left her in the care of the nanny before she went downstairs to greet him.

  When she entered the room she found him standing by the mantel, a bouquet of tulips in his hand.

  Tulips that reminded her of his tongue, opening her up to him like a flower, while the carriage moved and rocked across the London streets.

  She’d hardly placed one of her lavender slippered toes into the room, when his head turned and his eyes met hers, the piercing blue shaking her to her bones.

  “You shouldn’t be here.”

  It was a breach of every rule they’d set in this affair.

  “I missed you,” he said simply.

  She perched on the blue settee. He sat beside her. Close, closer than any man should. Then again, she had agreed to an affair. She’d held him deep inside her last night, even as the carriage slowed before her house. She hadn’t wanted to let him go, to see him leave.

  But she had not agreed to bring the affair here. Not in her house.

  He took her left hand, and raised it to his lips. He wore gloves, the leather soft on her bare skin.

  His lips felt even softer. And aroused memories that pulled up all the deep, dark desires of their two sinful weeks.

  At a sound in the hallway, she quickly pulled her hand away, inching away from him.

  A moment later Olivia walked in. She stopped, startled, at the threshold. Oakley stood immediately.

  “Forgive me, I didn’t realize we had company,” Olivia said, politely. But the younger girl didn’t move, staring instead at Oakley with blatant curiosity.

  “Not at all. Come in, darling, and allow me to present to you, Lord Oakley. Lord Oakley, my stepdaughter, Olivia Coswell.”

  Olivia strode into the room, smiling pleasantly, and Maggie wished her stepdaughter was still staying with Grace.

  “Miss Coswell, a pleasure.” Oakley bowed, perfectly correct, as befitting a man of his station and reputation. Maggie realized that she knew so little of that side of him. The Oakley she knew was passionate, roguish and reckless. The Oakley she knew had no problem offering to take her home in his carriage in order to fuck her to exhaustion.

  “I didn’t know we had such lofty acquaintances,” Olivia said flirtatiously. Maggie thought she would drop dead right then and there from embarrassment. That was all she needed!

  “It was so kind of you to call,” Maggie interjected, anxious for the awkward situation to end. She stood as well.

  “Right, yes, well.” Oakley seemed to pick up on the hint. How wouldn’t he, when she was being so obvious? He walked toward the door with two sets of female eyes trained on him and then stopped, turning abruptly.

  “Mrs. Coswell,” he said apologetically, “I don’t know how I could be so forgetful, but I came here today with the intention of inviting you to the opera this evening.”

  For a moment, Maggie didn’t know what to say. The invitation was clearly a breach of the secrecy of their affair, but then so was Diana’s dinner party and even this visit.

  Olivia’s eagle eyes were taking everything in. Maggie reminded herself that it was perfectly acceptable to attend the opera with a man. After all, she was a widow and not some impressionable young girl.

  “And certainly, you must bring Miss Coswell.” Maggie’s gaze sharpened on Oakley’s bland expression. For the briefest moment she was struck with a piercing jealousy, before she reminded herself that the extended invitation was the only polite thing to do with the girl standing there in the room.

  “You’re too kind, Lord Oakley,” Maggie managed to say. “We accept your invitation.”

  The moment he was out the door, Olivia turned on her and began an inquisition.

  “Who is he? How do you know him? Where did you meet him? Why didn’t you tell me we had company?”

  Maggie held her hand up tiredly. “Lord Oakley and I met at Lady…”

  She didn’t get to finish before Olivia started on another rant.

  “Oh, I see you’ve been having quite a time with me out of the house. Consorting with earls!”

  “I suppose you don’t wish to attend the opera tonight, then?” That seemed to work, for Olivia immediately backed down and mustered up a rather contrite look.

  “Of course I wish to!” Olivia cried. “But what shall I wear?”

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Oakley stopped thinking and simply followed his instincts. He knew that if he, even for a moment, questioned himself, he would have to ask what he thought he was doing.

  It was one thing to take a lover, especially a lover of inferior birth. It was entirely another thing to chaperone that lady to social events. And beyond that, to escort the lady and her stepdaughter!

  So he didn’t think. He simply did what felt right. Unfortunately, he couldn’t completely shut out the judgments of the world.

  First there was Sir Robert, at White’s, who approached him slyly.

  “I haven’t seen you at Harridan House. I’ve heard you’ve been seen about town with a certain widow. A bit low for an earl, but then, a man’s choice of mistress is often suspect.”

  Then Lord Marsden, his mentor, remarked in a studiously nonchalant way that a man of ambition should always be discreet.

  Finally, there was his mother.

  She stopped him in the hallway outside of his bedroom just as he headed out for the afternoon.

  “Darling, there’s been talk. You have been seen squiring that plain Mrs. Coswell around town. And her daughter. I know the girl is lovely and has an enormous dowry, but you can’t be thinking of marrying such a common girl.”

  “Marry Miss Coswell?” Oakley laughed. The girl was the furthest thing from his mind. Well, except for the fact that he cursed her presence daily for getting in the way of his desire.

  His mother’s expression grew more stern and Oakley stopped laughing.

  “I am relieved on that account, but that can only mean you are having an affair with her mot
her. Oakley, tell me this is not the case.”

  “Why ever must I tell you that?” Oakley said defensively. “I’m a grown man. Men have lovers.”

  “They do not appear with their very common mistresses at society events!” Lady Oakley insisted, drawing herself up to her full impressive height, almost as tall as her son.

  “She is not my mistress,” Oakley said truthfully. After all, Maggie had made their relationship very clear. Another one of the rules they had set that first night at the flat. They owed each other nothing.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  It was perverse, Oakley knew, but his mother’s words made it impossible to think of anything but Maggie. She was supposed to meet him much later that night, after they’d each been to their separate social engagements, but he had the overpowering urge to see her immediately, to prove that he could, no matter what anyone or his mother thought.

  He found her at home, looking lovely in a blue afternoon dress. More importantly, she was alone when she greeted him in the sitting room.

  She was surprised but her face glowed as if she was happy to see him and he felt an answering swell in his chest. It was in her company that he now felt most alive.

  He kissed her. Somewhere in the dim recesses of his mind he knew he shouldn’t. Not here, not with the door cracked open for decency. Yet should and shouldn’t were all mixed up, for what he needed was the sweet taste of her lips under his.

  She kissed him back. The curve of her lower lip beguiled him. The touch of her tongue on his devastated.

  Which was why the foreign gasp of dismay registered so slowly.

  The cry of “Mama,” however, cut sharply through the veil of passion.

  Oakley pulled away from Maggie with difficulty. He straightened his jacket and faced the two girls.

  “Good afternoon,” he managed, bowing.