On These Silken Sheets

by Sabrina Darby

  “When I invite the lady out for a drive or call on her, or any other activity that takes me out of my way.”

  “If I might be permitted, sir,” Peters began again, “with Miss Hargreaves you were much clearer in your intentions.”

  True, of course, but then Lady Stanton, née Carolina Hargreaves, had held far more appeal. The same way Lucy appealed to him.

  No, not the same. Lucy was far more appealing.

  “Listen, Peters, I shall let you know when I am courting,” Robert said finally, as the valet helped him on with his jacket. “Then you may have your chance at my cravat.”

  “Well, Robert?” Clarissa Molineaux caught his arm with her own plump one as soon as they entered the drawing room after dinner and pulled him into a corner. “Miss Clarke was your partner for dinner, again. You do realize that if you don’t call on her tomorrow or send her flowers at the very least, you will have no chance with her?”

  He sighed, following Clarissa’s gaze to where Emmaline Clarke now sat, chatting with Mrs. Hodgkiss, whose husband, Geoffrey, worked at Robert’s bank.

  She was a lovely girl. She had the sort of pale blond beauty that seemed to come with a life spent indoors. Her breasts were small, though she apparently wore one of those devices that gave a little more heft to a woman’s bosom. The lace fichu she wore regrettably obscured the resulting upper curve. The rest of her body was fine; she was the sort of woman who was small on top but well-rounded in the hips and thighs.

  “And I might add, my friend, that taking a mistress…”

  Robert’s gaze shot back to Clarissa.

  “…when you are thinking of taking a wife is not the most intelligent move.”

  “How in God’s name did you hear of that?”

  “News does travel,” Clarissa said, rolling her brown eyes. “Let us hope that Mrs. Hodgkiss is not revealing that information to Miss Clarke.”

  Robert’s lips thinned as he contemplated the idea. But he’d be damned if he’d make any excuses for his life to anyone, especially not to some miss out of the schoolroom.

  “It’s just as well she knows now,” Robert said. “For I won’t be giving Lucy up simply because I’ve taken a wife.”

  “Lucy,” Clarissa repeated. “Somehow I expected her name to be something far more sinful, like…like Esmerelda, or Deirdre, or…”

  “Stop!” Robert laughed, holding up his hand. But there was just the slightest edge to his laugh. He didn’t want to talk about Lucy with anyone, to share her even in words. Really, couldn’t a man have anything private anymore?

  Midnight came and went and finally the guests began to leave.

  This was the sort of evening on which, just five days ago, he would have taken himself to Harridan House. And two weeks ago, he would have lusted after Madame Rouge but pleasured himself with one or more of the other lovely whores.

  Tonight, sleeping in a bed he had paid for, in an apartment he had rented, lay Lucy.

  It had been twelve years since he’d last kept a mistress and then he had tired of the woman quickly, visiting other women’s beds more frequently than hers. He wondered how long it would take him to tire of Lucy.

  Perhaps he wouldn’t.

  He wanted to dismiss all the thoughts of the future, as he had managed to do for the last twenty years, living for each moment.

  When he arrived back at his house, the emptiness of his bedroom struck him anew. Then he wondered why he was there when his mistress was halfway across the city.

  It was only a matter of minutes before he had his coat on again. With luck, his groom hadn’t even finished unhitching the carriage.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Robert felt like a thief letting himself in to the maisonette. A candle still burned in the entryway, but clearly, the maid had gone to sleep and the footman as well. He walked upstairs as quietly as possible, wincing when the wood creaked beneath his boots.

  As he crossed the hallway, he saw that the soft glow of candlelight flickered beneath the door of Lucy’s room.

  The door opened as he neared and suddenly he was filled with the fragrant, lacy armful of Lucy in her new night rail, her lips on his neck.

  He held her, savoring the feel of her lush body under his hands and her exquisite tongue on his skin.

  “I thought perhaps you’d be asleep, and I’d have to wake you,” he managed to say, the words a half groan as she pressed herself against him, her thigh nudging itself between his legs.

  “I’ve always kept late hours,” Lucy explained in a rush between kisses, “and of course, I hoped that you’d come.”

  Then she broke away and pulled him after her. He followed almost helplessly, deliriously.

  So, this was the joy of having a mistress.

  With the bedroom door closed behind them, she reached for him, undressing him as carefully as his valet had attempted to dress him only hours earlier.

  When he was naked and hard in her hands, he finally took control, lifting her and placing her gently on the bed.

  The fine, thin snowy-white nightgown hardly concealed anything.

  “Do you like it here?” he asked, running his hands down her body, molding the fabric to her curves.

  “It’s a lovely place,” Lucy answered on a sharp intake of breath. She fidgeted under his hands, reaching for him with her legs, running one soft foot down his calf. “But more lovely with you here, touching me.”

  It was the answer that was more than right, that was perfect, and he wondered at how such simple words could make his desire grow more fervent.

  Her toes trailed over his thigh and then found his cock, running up and down the length.

  Robert pushed her leg away, spreading her open, and leaned forward over her body till he touched her, touched the greedy suction of her wet heat.

  He thrust in smoothly, pulling her hips up toward him and she extended the motion by wrapping her legs around him and holding him tight. Her soft, pleased sigh filled his ears as they matched their rhythm, each urging the other on.

  His mouth opened hot, ravenously on her neck until she twisted her head away, panting.

  There was no way in hell he would be giving Lucy up, not for any woman, any wife.

  “You’re mine, Lucy,” he grunted, punctuating his words with the forward thrust of his cock.

  Her hands reaching under his thighs to urge him on echoed her soft “yes.” “As long as you wish,” she added breathlessly.

  Which didn’t sit right with him, though he didn’t know why. Robert pushed his thoughts away and concentrated on the feel of her wet cunt gripping him. There would be time enough for thinking later. Now was the time for pleasure.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Lucy dreaded seeing her sister. She paid a boy on the street to take Mary a note saying she was unable to come that Thursday.

  Mary sent back a note by the boy that clearly something was havey-cavy and if Lucy did not visit immediately, she would come to Harridan House to find her.

  Although Lucy hadn’t seen her sister outside of that room in three months, she wouldn’t put it past Mary to finally rouse herself to action.

  “Lord! Who turned into the bloody duchess?” Mary gaped at her when she walked in. Lucy had worn one of her old dresses for the visit, but she couldn’t help pairing it with one of her new bonnets, her new half boots and a lovely new pale blue pelisse.

  “I’ve left Harridan House,” Lucy announced, knowing she may as well get this part over with. “I’m Sir Robert’s mistress now.”

  Mary gaped at her, and then her stare cracked into a grin and a full-bodied laugh.

  “You’re more like me than you thought, aren’t you, sis? Blood will tell, they always say. You thought you could keep yourself high and mighty, so pure in the middle of a house of sin. Untouched. But here you are, turning to whoring just like me.”

  Lucy took a deep breath and stared determinedly out the window. She could see, between two other buildings, a sliver of gray sky.

  Perha
ps she could simply give her sister a good portion of her savings and have done with it, never see her again.

  “Well it’s a bit of luck, anyway.” Mary nodded. “He’ll pay for that virginity now one way or another. Has he given you any baubles yet? Any tiny little diamonds?” She laughed again.

  “It’s not like that, Mary.” Lucy sighed. “I have everything I could want, a new wardrobe, an apartment, a maid and a cook! And of course, him.”

  “Him,” Mary scoffed. “And what’s with the rag of a dress you’re wearing if he treats you so well? You’ve got a few fripperies I see, but where are the goods?”

  Lucy sighed heavily, not trying to hide her displeasure.

  “Will you be inviting me over for tea?” Mary goaded her, mimicking Lucy’s more modulated tones, the manner of speaking she had worked hard at perfecting. “I’d like to see what a fancy place you have before he tires of you.”

  “The plan, Mary, has always been to save up until we can buy that tavern. And that’s your dream, not mine, so let me be.”

  “I hear St. Keverne in your voice,” Mary snapped.

  Lucy unclenched her fists. If Mary wished to have the last word she was welcome to it. All Lucy wanted was to leave.

  Although, as she made her way back down the creaking stairs, she knew it was the truth she wanted to leave.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Robert sent flowers to Miss Clarke. As Clarissa had said, it was the least he could do if he wished to keep her open to his suit. But somehow it felt like too great a step in the lady’s direction.

  Then he set out on the hour journey to Richmond to pay his duty call on his mother.

  The instant he stepped into his mother’s sitting room a few minutes before lunch, he wished he hadn’t gone. There sat his mother; his grandmother, who was wide awake and staring at him through her quizzing glass as if she had forgotten who he was; and a young, bland, fresh-faced girl in country togs who stared at him with an expression of the utmost hopeful expectation.

  He had forgotten about the poor orphaned relation whom his mother had invited down for his perusal.

  “Robert, dear, come and have a seat,” his mother directed, pointing toward the chair closest to where the girl sat. “You haven’t met Miss Ambrose yet. She’s Uncle Clive’s ward, whom I’ve invited for a visit.”

  His lips twisted into a rueful smile at being forced to play at the charade of not knowing exactly why Miss Ambrose was here.

  Forced? Who had ever forced him to do anything?

  He sat through the next two hours with the utmost tolerance. In fact the luncheon was almost bearable because, as his mother and grandmother were putting on their best behavior for Miss Ambrose, there wasn’t any discussion of his nephew Archie’s antics.

  Nothing spoiled a meal like hearing about Archibald. The boy was the very reason Robert was considering marriage in the first place.

  One thing was certain, if he intended to pursue this whole matrimony thing, he should get about it as soon as possible. It wasn’t like him to dawdle about decisions, and as far as Miss Clarke was concerned, he had been dawdling for almost a month.

  As for Miss Ambrose, Robert had not the slightest twinge of indecision. He had known from the first moment he saw the girl, who did seem to be lovely in temperament if not in form, that he would not marry her. At the very least, Miss Clarke, who held no particular attraction for him either, came with her father’s goodwill and business contracts.

  Miss Ambrose held little attraction for him and his mother’s approbation took away what small amount there was.

  Chapter Twenty

  It took Lucy a good portion of the morning to cleanse her mind and spirit of her visit to Mary, but determinedly, she pushed away any doubt and self-incriminations and threw herself back into her new life.

  She was in the parlor, fresh from the bath and lounging in her dressing gown with the latest issue of La Belle Assemblee, when Robert arrived.

  “Get up, you lazy girl,” he urged, stroking the underside of her bare foot. “It’s time for your first riding lesson.”

  Lucy snatched her foot away as his caress turned ticklish.

  “I believe I’ve already had that lesson,” Lucy returned, scrambling to her knees on the sofa and reaching for him, “but I’ll take my fortieth, or fiftieth…”

  “Unfortunately,” Robert murmured as she pressed herself against him, her face resting against his waistcoat, her fingers caressing the insides of his thighs through his leather breeches, “today will be sidesaddle. If we were in the country I’d teach you astride.” His hands caught her around her waist and pulled her up so that her feet dragged off the sofa and dangled in the air for a long moment before she slid down his body to stand, her legs caught between his.

  Lucy stared at his mouth, almost even with hers now. He had such a lovely mouth, the lips so well defined and expressive.

  “You’re right, I don’t know sidesaddle. Show me?” Lucy leaned forward and pressed her lips to his. She caught his lower lip between her teeth.

  He tasted good, like an early-afternoon brandy, and he smelled good too.

  Then he pulled away.

  “I think, rather,” he said, “you’ll have to show me what you’ve learned later. For now, I assume there’s a riding habit in your new wardrobe?”

  Lucy nodded. In fact there was a lovely russet habit, but while she was excited to wear it, she wasn’t particularly excited about the horse part. The last time she’d ridden a horse was when she was six and her father pulled her up in front of him on the ancient pony that pulled the cart.

  “It’s in the bedroom.” She started for the door and then paused, flashing Robert a flirtatious smile. “I’ll need a little assistance. I sent Charlotte out to buy some pins.”

  He followed her and she was ridiculously pleased that he did. He even helped her dress, although he made an abominable lady’s maid. Of course, Lucy had to admit, that was really her fault, since she was spending much more time trying to convince him to take his clothes off than to dress her.

  It was his fault too, Lucy amended, when, her hands above her head, fastening her hair into some semblance of a fashionable knot onto which to perch the adorable hat that matched the dress, he pressed his mouth to the back of her neck. Her hands stilled, her arms shaking as she relaxed back into the kiss.

  “You’re wicked, Robert.”

  “Am I?” He moved away, not enough that she couldn’t feel his heat so close to her body. She struggled valiantly to finish her hair.

  “Yes, and you’re torturing me.” She caught his eyes in the mirror and held the gaze. “We could always put off the lesson till tomorrow?”

  She watched him place his hands on either side of her hips, watched their progress up her body to cup her breasts. His hands were so hot she felt as if there were almost nothing between them and her skin. Despite the cloth, his thumbs found her nipples and rubbed circles around them till she strained against the fabric.

  “Are you afraid, Lucy?”

  “No,” she whispered. His eyebrow arched upward and Lucy laughed ruefully, dropping her hands to cover his. “Perhaps I am a bit.”

  “It will be all right. I’m a good teacher.”

  His smile was wicked, the sort of smile that gave her every confidence that here in the bedroom he could teach her all manners of things.

  “Well, I suppose if we are to do this before it gets dark, we may as well do it.” Lucy sighed.

  His groom had kept the horses walking outside back and forth on the street and now they were just a few yards away. There was a gray stallion, which she recognized as Robert’s new highly prized Arabian, and then there was the mare.

  She was an exquisite animal, sleekly curved and muscled, her mane glossy and flowing down her neck. And those legs—so delicate it was hard to believe that even four of them could keep the animal upright—prancing really, almost as if she were showing off for them.

  Dancing Girl. The name fit and the horse
was hers. Hers.

  Suddenly Lucy was more excited than afraid.

  “So what do we do?”

  “For now,” Robert said, “we’ll just seat you, and Harry will lead your horse as we walk the horses to the park slowly.”

  Lucy did not feel particularly graceful when Robert helped her up and she settled into the saddle. It was difficult to keep her balance even with the horse standing still. But of course, the horse was never truly standing still, she was always moving in some way, dancing.

  Once Lucy was seated and holding on tightly, keeping her left foot carefully still, Robert mounted his own horse.

  “Did you have a nice day?” Lucy asked

  “It was well enough,” Robert answered, noncommittal. She knew he had gone to visit his mother, who lived with his grandmother. She thought of her own parents, much farther away than an hour’s ride. “My mother invited a Miss Ambrose to stay with her.”

  There was something about the way he said the woman’s name that made Lucy shiver.

  “A Miss Ambrose?” Lucy repeated. “That sounds rather matrimonial.” He looked at her in surprise and Lucy knew that her instinct had been correct. “Do you plan to marry? Oh, but of course you will, how silly of me!” She waved her hand in the air as she laughed.

  “Don’t let it worry you about us, Lucy,” Robert assured her. “It will have no bearing on the situation.”

  She shot him a sidelong look, the only sort of look she could really do without shifting her posture. Studying his profile, she saw the small line at the corner of his mouth that belied his unconcern. Perhaps it was his age, that she thought him a bachelor set in his ways, but somehow she hadn’t expected that he might marry. Which was a foolish assumption to have made, one she couldn’t afford. She opened her mouth and then shut it again.

  If he wished to pretend, then that is what she would do. For now.

  They arrived, after what had seemed an eternity, at Hyde Park. Lucy’s legs and backside were already sore from the unusual motion, but Robert insisted on teaching her the basics of mounting and dismounting, proper use of the reins, the whip and her left leg. Every time Dancing Girl responded to one of her commands, Lucy felt as though she had achieved a great victory.