Always the Mistress (Never the Bride Book 11)

by Emily E K Murdoch

  But even Emma, with all her perception, had been unable to imagine what he had intended to ask her.

  Silence fell in the grove as a breeze blew past, Braedon desperately attempting to collect his thoughts. His shoulders were tight, his pulse thundering in his ears, and it was fortunate he was seated because his legs would not have held him.

  Braedon swallowed again, hoping it would allow him to speak.

  Not because he was shy about asking Emma to be his mistress. The thought had occurred to him, but that was not what he had been about to ask her. He had planned to ask her to marry him.

  Emma Tilbury. If she was his wife…Christ, he could not think of a more happy existence. Emma Fitzclarence, Viscountess Braedon…

  Why not? What other woman had consumed him the way Emma had, and not just over a few encounters, but years? He had never been able to remove her from his mind or heart. Every other woman he encountered was measured against her and found lacking.

  And it was not only he who would gain from their connection. Why, Emma could live here! Tidgley Manor was almost made for her. She would be safe. He could keep her safe.

  Braedon looked at her. Whenever he was with her, he felt….everything. Like the rest of the world did not matter. He liked himself better when he was with her.

  “You were going to ask me something?” Emma prompted.

  It was clear what she expected, and Braedon knew the world would expect it too––as soon as the news of their weekend trip reached the gossips, as it undoubtedly would.

  A marriage between a viscount and a mistress of an earl…it was highly scandalous, and Braedon knew that. The fact the two men knew each other, had been friends for several years, would likely add fuel to the fire.

  But he did not care. How could he, when Emma was seated before him, just out of reach?

  Scandal could go hang, Braedon thought impetuously. Who needed London, anyway? With Emma as his wife, they could live here happily, together. Their real friends would visit them, he knew that.

  And children…well, when they were old enough, they could be told a little of their mother’s story, if Emma was agreeable. They did not need to know the whole truth. They would know her as a wonderful woman, after all. How could anyone doubt her?

  No, he was resolved. He would ask Emma Tilbury to marry him, and she would say yes. They would be married swiftly because he could not bear to keep his hands off her for much longer, and then they would be happy.

  Braedon opened his mouth to pour all this out to her, in what sentences he could not fathom, but before he was able to get a single word out, Emma put a hand on his.

  “Please, do not worry,” she said quietly. “Being a mistress is something I am accustomed to, and I will not be offended by the suggestion. I actually have been hoping you would wish for some sort of arrangement, ever since we spoke at Mrs. Marnion’s card party.”

  It was impossible to prevent his jaw from dropping. She…she wanted him, too? More, she wished to bed him. She had hoped they would come to…it was more than he could ever have hoped.

  “I-I did not know you had…had considered me––”

  “Do not misunderstand me, and I wish to be very plain about this,” said Emma quickly. “The money and the protection would be most welcome.”

  Braedon deflated slightly.

  “But I would not offer myself to merely anyone. I have principles,” said Emma quietly, not looking away. “Even though ladies like Mrs. Marnion would not necessarily understand them. Criteria, of a sort.”

  “You…you do?” His voice was hoarse. Her hand was still in his, and her smile stirred more desire in him.

  “Indeed,” she said lightly. “For me to become the mistress of a man, I have to admire him. Respect him. There even has to be some desire there, too, or I could not…do what I do.”

  Braedon was not entirely sure what he was more surprised at: that he had not proposed matrimony to the woman, that she wished to become his mistress, or that she desired him.

  “That type of passion, it is something I have not experienced in a long time,” Emma added.

  Braedon nodded mutely. Keeping calm was his primary concern at this point, but his manhood was stiffening, and he wanted to pull her into his arms and pull that gown off. He had wanted her for so long, and now she was offering herself to him.

  The remembrance that he had intended to actually offer for her hand had not disappeared, exactly, but Braedon was finding it difficult to concentrate. Emma. Naked, beneath him, crying out for his touch––

  Braedon cleared his throat. Emma offering herself to him was too much to resist. They could revisit the conversation about their future plans at a later date. She was hardly going anywhere, and his body needed release if he was ever going to think clearly again.

  “Then…then let us consider this a trial period this weekend. A test, to see if we are as well suited to each other as we believe ourselves to be.”

  Was that sufficient? Braedon felt utterly at sea. He had no comprehension of how to go about such things, and the fact that he had never lain with a woman…well, it would show, wouldn’t it?

  He would have to say something. He had never bedded a woman before, and now one of the most experienced lovers in England was suggesting they go to bed together.

  Damnit, man, speak!

  “I––”

  Before he could say another word, his lips were claimed by a woman who knew precisely what she wanted.

  Braedon lost himself in the kiss, wild and wonderful, untamed and finally, for the first time, unrestrained.

  “No one will disturb us here, will they?”

  Braedon blinked at Emma as she pulled away, her hands still on his chest. “What? Oh, no, no one is likely to come here at all. ’Tis private property, after all, and I have only the one gardener who is today––”

  All further attempts at explanation were halted as her lips crushed his own. Braedon moaned as he felt the swell of her breasts press against him, her sweet body, which he had desired the moment she had smiled at him, years ago now.

  He could never have guessed he would eventually have Emma in his arms, her fingers slowly undoing the buttons of his coat, as his manhood swelled to––

  “Wait.”

  Something within him had demanded it, and so he had spoken.

  Emma immediately pulled away, her hands leaving his buttons and returning to her lap. “I am sorry, I––”

  “No, no need to apologize,” said Braedon hastily, cheeks aflame.

  “It is only––is there anything wrong?”

  Braedon hesitated. He was not ashamed of his innocence; if he had not espied Emma at such a young age when he entered society and found every other woman uninspiring after her, he would assuredly have more experience than he did now.

  Awkward though it would be to share this, it would be far less embarrassing than continuing on, only for him to reveal that he was not entirely…well, sure what he was doing.

  “Before we continue, I have to tell you…” Braedon’s voice trailed away. How to put this into words?

  It was strange. Every gentleman expected a lady to be virtuous, innocent, a virgin until their wedding night. Every lady expected, at least as far as he could understand from whispers overheard, that their gentleman would be experienced.

  How did that make sense?

  “Here, let me help you to speak,” said Emma huskily, kissing his neck.

  Braedon groaned. “Christ, that is wonderful, but not helping my concentration, Emma!”

  She laughed. “Please, go on.”

  Braedon closed his eyes. Perhaps it would be easier to share if he could not see her? “I have never––I haven’t…this will be my first time to do anything like this.”

  There. It was done. If she chose to get up and leave, then so be it.

  There was silence, and it was this total lack of response that forced Braedon to open his eyes. Emma was still seated, but that mischievous look was gone, replace
d with wide eyes.

  “Are…are you in earnest?”

  Braedon nodded. He had never felt so much of a damned fool in his life, but if he had not said something…

  Emma’s face broke out into a genuine smile. “Oh, Fitz, I am so pleased.”

  It took a little while for those words to register. “I am sorry?”

  “Oh, thank you for telling me,” said Emma softly, her hands returning to his buttons, slowly undoing them. “This is something so precious to me, sharing this with you. I am pleased––honored—nature is so passionate, the sunshine and breeze…”

  Braedon’s heart soared.

  “And now,” she said, “now I know, I can ensure this is everything it should be.”

  Braedon was tempted to ask her just precisely what she meant by that, but without saying another word, Emma pulled him down to the rug, into her arms, kissing him fiercely.

  This was what every day of his life should be. The feeling of covering her body with his was intoxicating, her fingers teasing and touching every part of skin they could reach, and Braedon stopped thinking, losing himself in the sensations.

  And what sensations they were. Braedon broke the kiss that was sending sparks of heat down his whole body and a little nervously kissed Emma’s neck.

  “Oh, yes,” she murmured.

  Emboldened, Braedon continued to nuzzle her neck before moving down toward her breasts. Emma squirmed underneath him and gasped as his mouth moved, and when his tongue managed to graze one of her nipples, almost free from her gown, she cried out.

  “Fitz!”

  He kissed her on the lips, claiming her as his own. Emma looked up, her fiery hair loose from its pins and spread out across the blanket.

  Her quick fingers made light work of his coat, waistcoat, and shirt, all of which were cast aside as their ardor grew.

  Braedon could barely think for the desire pouring through his veins. He had Emma below him, begging for more, and he could give it to her. It was as though they were the only people in the world, and in this perfect moment, they had found each other.

  After all these years, he was doing the one thing he had never believed possible. He was making love to Emma. His Emma.

  “Right, time for something different!”

  Braedon had hardly registered the words before Emma had turned him over.

  Straddling him, she giggled. “You weren’t expecting that, then?”

  “No,” said Braedon. Christ, seeing her above him, her breasts heaving, hair flowing down her shoulders…

  “You will have to help me,” Emma said in a hurried, desire-filled voice. “Help me, Fitz. Help me love you.”

  Braedon would have done anything she asked in that moment, so it was probably fortunate the only help she appeared to need was removing her clothing as quickly as possible.

  Obeying as best he could, Braedon helped Emma untie the ribbons along the side of her gown and then pulled it up over her head.

  “Christ and all his saints!”

  There was nothing else he could say. By God, she wasn’t––she wasn’t wearing any underclothes. Straddled over him, wearing not a single stitch of clothing, was Emma Tilbury.

  She smiled wickedly. “You weren’t expecting that, were you?”

  “No,” groaned Braedon. “Oh, Emma…”

  His voice trailed away, utterly unable to capture the vision that was pressed against the hardness of his manhood. Every inch of her was perfect. Every inch of her demanded to be touched, to be kissed, and Braedon’s hands moved of their own accord, clutching at her hips.

  “Damnit, I want you.”

  Emma smiled, squirming slightly against his manhood, making Braedon close his eyes. “Let’s get some of these things off you. No––don’t you move. I am your mistress, Fitz. Let me serve you.”

  Braedon opened his eyes to ensure he took in every second of this wonderful moment. He lay there, breath getting caught in his throat, as Emma moved over him, pulling off his breeches and boots.

  Emma’s eyes widened, and Braedon leaned up on his elbows to see what she was looking at.

  “What––what is the problem?”

  Emma was staring, shamelessly, at his manhood. Braedon fought the instinct to cover himself.

  “You…you are perfect,” she said quietly, returning to straddle him.

  Braedon felt his cheeks color. “You…you are sure?”

  “Magnificent,” Emma whispered as she leaned forward to kiss him.

  Nothing could surmount this high—the pressure of Emma, the sensation of her skin against his, the weight of her breasts on his chest as they kissed, free of the months of restraint which led them to this moment.

  It was only when Emma broke the kiss and smiled with a wicked wantonness, as well as desire, that Braedon felt anticipation rise in his stomach as every inch of him cried out for her. “What are you doing?”

  “Why, taking my magnificent steed for a ride,” said Emma, not looking away. “I told you, I preferred to ride this way.”

  And in a movement that made Braedon cry out with pleasure, she mounted him, allowing his manhood inside her slowly, inch by inch.

  Braedon could hardly think as she took him in. She was the one who was magnificent, as she gasped with pleasure at the sensation of him within her.

  “Oh, Emma…” was all he managed to pant, clutching her hips as though without her, gravity would cease to exist, and he would float away.

  Emma smiled. He had never seen her so confident, so comfortable in her own beauty and power. “Ready?”

  “No,” said Braedon with a laugh, and then a moan as that laughter shivered through him and into her. “No, I do not think I ever will be. But I want you. Love me, Emma.”

  He could never have believed ordering her to do such a wild thing, and yet she smiled.

  “I thought you would never ask.”

  Slowly, ever so slightly, Emma lifted herself up––but dropped a little down just before she had entirely left him.

  Braedon stiffened, his voice becoming a whisper. “Please––please, Emma, more.”

  The pleasure increased, growing inside him, balling like fire. Emma’s eyes were closed, and she was increasing the pace, though keeping his manhood shallow within her, until suddenly she cried out.

  “Fitz, oh yes!”

  She rested against him, still with his manhood inside her. Seeing Emma experience such pleasure because of him was almost enough to push him over the edge.

  “Thank you,” said Emma gently. “A generous gentleman will allow his lover to take her pleasure a few times before they share it together. Are you a generous man?”

  Braedon nodded. How could he say anything else? The idea that she was experiencing such pleasure that she cried out his name was wonderful, but…

  “I feel pleasure, too,” he admitted.

  Emma laughed. “Yes, and I am glad.”

  It was all Braedon could do to hold onto her and try not to explode as he watched her start to ride him again, as though he was her favorite stallion and she wanted to exhaust him. Watching her move up and down made his whole body shiver with pleasure as his manhood moved inside her.

  “Yes, yes, yes!”

  It was the third time Emma had reached a climax, and Braedon could not help but groan as she did so. He had been so close, too––but once again, Emma had stopped as her pleasure reached its peak.

  “And now,” she said with a smile. “Now it is your turn.”

  Braedon smiled as Emma started to ride him hard. If he had thought she had been making love to him before, it was nothing to this.

  “Oh, Emma,” he said hurriedly, feeling something build within him that could no longer be stopped. “Yes, yes!”

  Braedon exploded, pouring himself and his pleasure into Emma’s body in a way he could not control. The pleasure was rocketing to every inch of his body, unsure of where he was, who he was.

  Barely able to breathe, he clutched Emma to him. She had collapsed against
his chest, her shouts of pleasure mingling with his.

  They lay there together, enveloped in their joyful silence.

  “That…that was more than I could ever have imagined,” Braedon managed breathlessly.

  Emma kissed his shoulder as she dismounted and nestled into his side. “You just wait.”

  Braedon swallowed. “Wait? What for?”

  He saw that wonderfully wicked smile again.

  “Because,” she said quietly, “in twenty minutes, give or take, you’ll be able to go again. I have much to teach you.”

  Chapter Eleven

  When Emma opened her eyes, slowly to allow the sunlight in, it was to examine a ceiling she did not recognize, in a bed that was too soft and large to be hers.

  She blinked. This was not an entirely unusual experience, at least not in her life, but there was one question that had to be ascertained before she could relax.

  She waited for a moment and then breathed out.

  She was alone in the bed. She had not needed to reach out with a hand. After years of experience, some better than others, she could always tell whether she was alone or whether there was another occupant waiting for her to impress them.

  So. A different bed, a different room––but no gentleman. Strange. Where on earth was she?

  Sitting up, she looked around the elegant room. There was a bookshelf by the bed, and a fire was dying in the fireplace.

  Only then did she remember the previous day. The unpacking. The ride. The picnic. Or at least, the picnic that they had intended to eat…

  Fitz.

  She was fast becoming overly fond of this man, surprising her with every passing moment and showing no sign of slowing down. Just when she thought she had him figured out, every inch of his personality understood––he surprised her.

  And each time, her heart became a little more lost to him.

  “That…that was more than I could ever have imagined…”

  Emma’s smile broadened, and she shifted the spare pillow behind her so she could sit upright. When was the last time she had just sat in a bed as large and luxurious as this? No expectations, no snoring man beside her, no respite until her body was demanded again.