Gentlemen Prefer Heiresses

by Lorraine Heath

  They returned to shore in short order. He disembarked, pulled the skiff partway onto land, and held out his hand to her. She placed hers in it, rose. The boat wobbled.

  “Easy now,” he cooed.

  She moved forward, the skiff rocked more precariously. She screeched, released her hold on him, threw up her arms for balance—

  And over she went.

  Chapter 8

  He rescued her.

  She was a wicked, wicked girl because she’d known he would, and she’d wanted him to. As firm and steady as his hold on her had been, she could have easily made it to shore, but she wasn’t ready for her night with him to come to a close. She wasn’t ready to admit that nothing profound had transpired between them when he’d told his tale. She wasn’t ready to pretend she didn’t care for him.

  And she’d known he couldn’t deliver her, looking like a drowned cat, to his parents’ home. What if they’d awakened and were roaming the hallways? What if a servant caught sight of her? Her reputation would be left in shambles.

  She’d explained all this to him as she sat in his carriage with his coat draped over her shoulders.

  “I can sneak you in,” he said to her now.

  “If my clothing were dry, it would be so much easier. Wet, my shoes squeak when I walk.”

  He gazed out the window as though the answer resided beyond the confines of the conveyance. “I don’t have a lady’s maid who could assist you.”

  “You must have some female servant.”

  “I never see them.”

  “Is your home dusty? Are your floors unpolished? Is your bed each night exactly as unkempt as it was when you left it that morning?”

  “Of course not.”

  “Then you have at least one female servant. She will suffice to assist me in laying my clothes before a fire and tidying my hair.”

  She thought she heard him mutter, “Dangerous.”

  “It shouldn’t take long,” she persisted. “I’d be mortified for your parents to see me in such a state, to know I’m so clumsy.”

  He blew out an audible breath, before shouting up instructions to the driver. They were going to his residence. She kept her smile small, hopefully invisible to him, but deep down inside her, where dreams resided, she was frolicking.

  She was in his residence, in a bedchamber, being assisted by a maid when he dearly wanted to assist her in loosening buttons, freeing laces, unknotting ribbons. Instead he stood by the fire in his small library, downing scotch. He’d changed out of his wet clothing—quickly because the temptation of her so near was almost too much for a normal man to resist, and nearly impossible for one as randy as he was.

  Taking her rowing at night had been a stupid thing. He’d been jealous of Somerdale—Somerdale for God’s sake. Jealous, which was even worse. He was not prone to jealousy. Early on he’d learned that in any relationship he was better served to retain a measure of distance when it came to his heart. But he’d wanted to give her an experience on the water that put Somerdale’s to shame.

  He’d gone to the private room at the Dragons expecting her to be there. When he saw that she wasn’t, he hadn’t wanted to stay. So he’d made hasty arrangements for tonight’s outing. Again, stupid. It was as though he had very little control over his actions, and most assuredly not over any rational thought process. Of late, all wisdom seemed to have fled.

  He never spent much time in his residence. Most of the furnishings and the few decorations had been chosen by his mother or Grace, and they’d provided little, assuming at some point a wife would finish things off. No one seemed to expect him to hold to his vow of never marrying.

  If he were honest, Gina often made him question the wisdom of it. He liked variety in his women, but became quickly bored. He doubted he’d ever become bored with her.

  He thought he’d been concentrating on the fire, but he must have been watching for her out of the corner of his eye, because he was immediately aware of her stepping into the room in bare feet, a blanket draped over her, held tightly to her breast. If she were wearing nothing at all beneath it, he was going to be in terrible trouble.

  “I hope you don’t mind,” she said quietly, almost shyly, “but I borrowed one of your shirts.”

  Even worse. Imagining the way it would swallow her up, he found himself jealous of a bit of linen. And as he’d already proven, when jealousy was involved, he lost any ability to reason. “Would you care for some brandy to warm you up a bit more?”

  She smiled. “Yes, please.”

  While he saw to pouring her a drink, she padded over to one of the two chairs in front of the fire, sat, and tucked her feet up beneath her. He could see a knee peeking out from a part in the blanket. Torture had a new name and it was Gina.

  He refilled his own glass to the brim with whiskey before walking over and handing her the snifter. He did wish she didn’t look so grateful, so alluring, so damned provocative. He was on a very short tether here, strained and taut, that was likely to snap at any moment.

  He dropped into his chair, took two quick gulps of the oaky liquid, a third gulp for good measure. If he were a gentleman, he’d alert her to the rebelliousness of her knee and suggest she cover it. Apparently, he was not. His mother would be sorely disappointed in him. Later, much later, when he was fifty, he would no doubt be sorely disappointed in himself as well. Not so much at seventy. He had little doubt he’d still remember that knee and be grateful for the memory.

  “How long?” he asked.

  She tilted her head to the side. “Pardon?”

  “How long before your clothing is dry?”

  “An hour or two I should think.”

  One hundred and twenty minutes of gazing on her, of having her within reach. He was residing in both heaven and hell. The whiskey was having a lethargic effect on him because suddenly he was grateful she’d taken a dip into the water, was here with him now. He settled back to enjoy her company. “So I shared with you earlier. Now it’s your turn to share with me.”

  Her eyes widened slightly. “Oh, right. The most intimate thing I’ve done or imagined doing with a man.”

  He lifted his glass in a salute. “You don’t have to tell me who he is or who you imagined him being.”

  “Oh, I wouldn’t. You wouldn’t tell me who your lady love was so I won’t give you any names either.”

  Lady love. Strange how he’d never really pondered Lady M in those terms, even though at the time he’d considered himself wrapped up in her spell. Also strange was that he didn’t contemplate reading poetry or sonnets to Gina. He enjoyed conversing with her far too much to consider giving up a single conversation in order to recite another’s words to her. “Yet you will provide details.”

  She nodded, sipped her brandy. “Although to be honest, it’s not really something I imagined before I spoke with Venus, and since then I’ve not been able to get it out of my mind.”

  His fingers tightened on his glass. “What exactly did she say?” The words came out harsher than he’d intended.

  She laughed, a tinkling of bells, chimes, and crystal being flicked. “I think it bothers you that I spent time with her.”

  “Bothered is not exactly the right word.” It was the perfect word. “I’m simply intrigued to know what she might have told you, to view the act from a lady’s perspective.”

  She shifted. The knee disappeared, reappeared. “We didn’t get to discuss a great deal because we were interrupted—” She gave him a pointed look. He refused to take the bait and blush. “—but she was describing how a woman can experience pleasure without losing her virginity.” She looked into the fire. “She told me men like to touch everywhere, that some use their tongues in wicked ways. She was on the verge of explaining exactly how it all transpires when you barged in.” Her gaze came back to land on him. Hard. For some strange reason, his cock twitched. “I was quite put out with you. So perhaps you should give me some consideration and explain precisely what she didn’t get a chance to.”

/>   “I’ll do you one better. I’ll show you.”

  She should have been scandalized by his offer. Instead, as he stood, she looked at the large bare hand he was holding out to her, and the only thought she seemed capable of forming was that he’d be touching her with that hand, that he would stroke and caress. That he might do a good deal more than that.

  After taking a deep breath, she placed her hand in his, fought to breathe as his fingers closed firmly around hers. No hesitation on his part, no doubts.

  “If at any time you change your mind, you have but to say and we’ll stop.” He drew her nearer until only a hairsbreadth separated them. With his free hand, he flicked the blanket off one of her shoulders and it fell to the floor, leaving a good bit of her legs exposed. “My shirt looks much better on you than it does on me.”

  “I would disagree. It’s too large.”

  His gaze dipped to her nude calves. “There is that.”

  Her toes squirmed, and it was all she could do not to let the squirming travel upward. She was going to be bold and daring tonight, not at all dull.

  Unexpectedly, he lifted her into his arms. With a squeak, she wrapped her arms around his neck. “We’re not going to stay in here?”

  “A bed would serve us better.”

  She nodded, and he began striding from the room. “I assume we won’t sit cross-legged on it and talk.”

  “There may be some talking. Legs might get crossed.” He winked at her. “But it will be far different from what you experienced the other night.”

  She ran a hand along his jaw. It was bristly and prickly. She liked the feel of it, the texture, the roughness. Before the night was done, it might abrade her skin. She was anticipating it with a headiness that made her realize she was somewhat wanton.

  Up the stairs he went. She felt delicate and precious in his arms. While she knew it was wrong, might result in her downfall, she couldn’t seem to care.

  At the landing, he turned down a short hallway and into a room with a massive four-poster bed. Not the room where she had bathed and changed. These were his chambers; she knew it without being told. It smelled of him. It reminded her of him.

  While he was fair, the furniture was dark, spoke to a part of him that called to the darker elements: vices, addictions, wickedness. Yet there was hope here in the pastel green of the wallpaper, the forest green of the duvet.

  He lowered her feet to the thick rug beside the bed, cradled her face between his palms. “We’re going to get very intimate, Gina, but I need you to know that I won’t dishonor you by taking your virginity.”

  She wanted to tell him that he would only honor her if he did, but as though knowing she would object, he pressed his thumbs to her lips. “But when we are done here, you will have been well and truly pleasured.”

  “What of you?”

  He lowered his head. “I believe I will never know any greater satisfaction.” His lips met hers, and she tasted the whiskey he’d sipped earlier. Opening her mouth to him, she found herself drowning in the sensations of rich flavors, sharp fragrances, the heat of his skin, the roughness of his jaw. She scraped her nails up into his hair, loving the way the curls tangled themselves around her fingers. Groaning low, he pressed her flush against him, until her breasts were flattened against his chest.

  He dragged his mouth along the underside of her chin and desire sluiced through her. After nibbling at the sensitive skin below her ear, he soothed it with little laps of his tongue. “I’ve wanted to do that for so long,” he rasped.

  “I’ve wanted you to. And I’ve yearned to do this.” Leaning in, rising up on her toes, she pressed her mouth to his throat, where the buttons he’d left undone revealed a narrow V of skin. He was salty on her tongue. His low growl sent shivers of pleasure coursing through her. It excited her to know she could elicit such a reaction from him, that he wasn’t immune to her touch.

  Drawing back, he placed his hands on her shoulders and turned her around. She felt a slight tug on her hair, realized he was unbraiding the strands she’d so meticulously woven together following her bath. When all the locks were free, he plowed his hands into her hair, massaged her scalp. With a sigh, she closed her eyes.

  “So glorious,” he rasped. “Goes all the way down to your bum.”

  “Gentlemen do not discuss that part of a woman’s anatomy.”

  “You’re about to discover I’m no gentleman.”

  She was very much looking forward to that.

  Gathering up all the tresses, he draped them over her right shoulder. “Set the first button that is secured free,” he ordered. “But only the one.”

  If he asked, she’d loosen them all. What a scandalous thought. She did as he instructed, and once her hands fell to her sides, he eased the opening of his shirt aside until it was almost off her shoulders. His open mouth landed against the nape of her neck, bringing with it heat and moisture. She couldn’t hold back her soft moan as he journeyed over her skin, along her spine. His hands closed around her arms as though he would hold her in place. Only she wasn’t going anywhere, except possibly to twist about and take possession of the luscious mouth that was doing such deliciously tantalizing things.

  “Did you ever go to that room at the brothel where people could watch you?” she asked.

  “No. What transpires between a lady and me is private, only for the two of us. I never discuss my encounters. You’re safe with me tonight, Gina. No one will ever learn that I know all the wickedly wonderful little sounds you make when lost in rapture.”

  “And if I don’t become lost?”

  “Oh, you will, sweetheart.”

  And she couldn’t help but wonder if in becoming lost she might also become found.

  Chapter 9

  He’d never been intimate with a woman of such purity, one who was experiencing all the many different facets of pleasure for the first time. It inflamed his own yearnings to know she was not merely a virgin at her core, but that her entire body was an untouched temple that had never been explored by any man. He was humbled by the gift she had presented him.

  He trailed his mouth to the sensitive spot behind her ear. “You’re to tell me if I do anything you don’t like.”

  “And if I do like what you’re doing?” she asked on a soft sigh.

  “Tell me that as well—with words, with sighs, moans, a bit of squirming.”

  “You’re going to make me squirm?”

  “That’s my goal. Don’t hold back, Gina. I will not sit in judgment of your reactions.”

  He guided his lips and tongue along the silken path just above where the collar of his shirt rested. “Another button,” he ordered.

  She obeyed and he eased his shirt off her shoulder. It shouldn’t have hit him like a punch to the gut. It wasn’t as though he hadn’t seen it before when she wore a ball gown. He didn’t know if he’d ever found anything as sensual, however, as her in his clothing. Memories of her were sure to flood his mind anytime he wore the shirt in the future, and he suspected it would quickly become thin and frayed with its constant use.

  He took his mouth on a leisurely journey over her shoulder. She sighed, a long drawn out, almost painful sound but he knew it wasn’t pain she was feeling. “Another.”

  He slipped his finger beneath the cloth at her other shoulder and slid the linen down. “All of them.”

  His voice sounded as though he were strangling. He was aware of the little tugs on his shirt. She didn’t hesitate. She trusted him. Wholly. Completely. Absolutely. He should command her to button herself up to her throat. He should spin on his heel and march from the room in long strides that would quickly get him beyond reach of her.

  Instead he stood there and kept his mouth shut. When her hands fell to her sides, he lowered the cloth, not even bothering to watch it drift to the floor, too mesmerized by the perfection unveiled.

  “My God, but you are beautiful.”

  The reverence in his voice brought tears to her eyes. Tillie, Tillie was the be
autiful one, the one who’d swept into London and brought lords to their knees. Gina’s uncle had been forced to make a deal with Rexton in order for Gina to draw anyone’s attention. She’d wanted dukes and earls to fight over her, marquesses and viscounts to vie for her affection. She’d wanted her dance cards filled, the soles of her dancing slippers worn thin, and her pick of proposals.

  Now all she wanted was for Andrew Mabry to touch her.

  Oh, she was a wicked girl, and she didn’t care.

  Slowly, so slowly, she turned around. The man looked to be in torment as his gaze dipped and lifted back to her face. Without prompting, she reached for his buttons.

  “Gina—”

  “I want to see you, too,” she admitted, before her courage left her.

  He remained still until all the buttons she could reach were loose, then he pulled his shirttails from his trousers, dragged his shirt over his head, and tossed it aside. Lacking his discipline, she flattened her palms against his chest, smiled. “You’re beautiful, too.”

  She raised her gaze to his. “I want to see all of you.”

  “It’s only fair I suppose.”

  He unfastened his trousers, lowered them, straightened. Her mouth went dry as she stared at his proudly jutting member. “You have a magnificent cock.”

  Laughing, he picked her up, tossed her onto the bed, and joined her there, stretched out along her side, raised up on an elbow. His eyes on hers, he trailed his finger along her chin. “Did Venus tell you to say that?”

  “She said some were magnificent. Yours is much nicer than the other one I saw. Can I touch it?”

  “Ah, Christ.” He pressed his forehead to hers, nodded.

  Reaching down, she wrapped her fingers around the hot, hard shaft. Covering her hand with his, he guided it up and down. “I like the way it feels,” she whispered.

  “Oh, I like the way it feels, too. Explore all you wish.”

  They explored each other, touching, caressing, stroking. She squeezed his buttocks, scraped her fingers up his side.