The Delicate Matter of Lady Blayne (35 page)

“I knew…I mean I wasn’t sure…” A slight flush colored her cheeks. “I don’t mean to be so frightfully ignorant.”

“It is nothing to be ashamed of. Young ladies have no one to talk to them frankly about sex.” He had to control the increased sense of joy that flooded him. Whatever else Silas Chapman had been to her, he hadn’t been as close to her emotionally as James was becoming. She had not felt comfortable enough with the footman to ask him her questions. And with a great deal of truth, he added, “You are relatively still inexperienced.”

“Compared to you?”

“Yes. Compared to me.” A surge of urgency pulsed through his cock. He pressed her hand more firmly, tensing his jaw at the surge of pained pleasure.

She frowned. “Freddy…he didn’t. I mean he couldn’t…”

“Become hard for you?”

She bit her lip and nodded.

He knew, somehow, that she had hesitated to say the words to describe an erection not out of any false modesty, but because the subject was painful to her.

And he knew she still needed to talk about it. He considered his response carefully, trying to say the exact thing that would tell her he was open to her, that he understood, but not so much that he would pressure her. Let her speak on her own terms.

“Freddy was sick,” he said.

“I don’t think he liked my body.”

“Then he was a fool.”

She offered him a somewhat sheepish smile. “Freddy ended up with decidedly more of me than he wed. I don’t think he approved.”

Suddenly, James lost all tolerance for hearing his cousin’s name. “Does it really matter what he approved of or not? He’s gone, Catriona. He has no say over you or what you do.” He touched her cheek. “You promised yourself to me. You promised to look only to my approval of you and your actions, did you not?”

She nodded.

“I’ll hear you speak the affirmation.”

“Yes…” Her voice sounded a bit breathless. “Yes, I did.”

“Then forget Freddy and his disapproval.”

James pulled the footstool to beside the tub and sat on it. Then he took the cloth and wet it and then soaped it. He placed it on her shoulder.

Her eyes widened. “You intend to wash me?”

She grinned, wide, all white teeth and lush red lips. But he heard her sudden nervousness.

He experienced the same nervousness, in the tightening of his stomach. The feeling of being somehow lost, all out to sea.

What did he know of being a tender lover?

Yet, he wanted to show her how he cherished her.

He wanted to earn her continued trust.

He needed to be closer to her.

Ignoring his rising sense of discomfort, he held her gaze. “Let me care for you.”

Her smile trembled and a slight flush colored her cheeks. “You want to wash me?”

“I want to care for you.”

She lowered her eyes. But she didn’t resist as he began to apply the cloth to her shoulders, her arms, placing a layer of lather on her smooth skin. He worked slowly, soaping every inch of her that he could reach above the water, the whole time aware of the intimacy of the act. An intimacy that was so intense, an intimacy they were both so awkward with, it was almost painful.

Awkward, painful, yes, but it was the only thing that would satisfy his need to become closer to her. To claim her in a way that was not just carnal. He wanted to claim her emotionally.

After her hair was washed and wrapped in a towel, he had her stand so that he could access her entire body. Then, once she was rinsed and clean all over, he put his lips to her stomach.

In flash, in his mind, he imagined her belly swollen, full of his child.

A wave of longing hit him, so strong, he closed his eyes and pressed his cheek to the curve of her belly.

She touched his head and stroked his hair then twined her fingers into it.

He tightened his arms about her.

Was it so selfish to wish that she might become pregnant?

That she might give him a love child?

Christ, he was a monster. It would be so unfair to the child. Sired by a peer but never allowed to enter that world. Only a monster could do that to his own child.

He was damned, damned for all time, for here with her, feeling so close to her, he couldn’t stop the steady stream of craving for that very thing.

“James?”

He pulled back from her and took her hand from his head then placed it to his cheek and looked up into those green-as-emerald eyes. “Let me care for you.”

He carried her upstairs to the bedchamber, laid her naked body on the bed then massaged her with jasmine scented oil. He’d played games with his women before, claiming to “own” them, but those liaisons had been transitory. Mere exchanges of money for sexual access during his brief times ashore.

This was different.

This was ownership forever.

A commitment.

He slid his hands over her smooth flesh, experiencing a sense of possessiveness and protectiveness with an intensity that made them rather novel feelings to him.

****

Sunny had awoken slowly. With James behind her, propped on several pillows, he made a warm and strong bedrest, and she reclined under a blanket within the circle of his arms.

His breathing had told her that he slept, and his hand rested on her stomach, holding her in place when she tried to arise. She had plead a desperate need to relieve herself and he had allowed to leave.

Now she was settled back in his arms. Leaning over her shoulder from behind, he pressed his cheek to hers. His unshaven face prickled hers. Now she felt more like a mistress, alone with a man in bed, in the hours before his toilet.

She recalled the previous hours. He had bathed her and then carried her to her bed. Then he had massaged jasmine-scented oil into her body, caressing her until she was completely limp. Until her eyes wouldn’t stay open. She had slept deeply. Now she felt rested and refreshed in a way she had not been since, well, since she couldn’t remember when.

He began pressing the lightest of kisses on her shoulder.

She caught her breath.

He wanted her.

His erection had waxed and waned over the time she had lain sleeping against him. Now it was rising once more, throbbing insistently.

But more than that, she could smell desire in his clean yet distinctly masculine scent. If that was a silly notion, she couldn’t help it. And he’d had erections when close to her before without trying to bed her. However, this time she could feel his determination. Unhurried, softly asserted, yes, but determination nonetheless.

Was it really wise to continue?

She had given herself to men before and been disappointed. Deeply, painfully disappointed.

What if James disappointed her now?

Oh God, what if she disappointed him?

What if, by picking the wrong moment, they ruined everything for the two of them?

Suddenly, tension went knotting through her. Making her feel as though she were sitting on the edge of a particularly uncomfortable chair. “I do no’ think I am ready for—”

“Shh…” He continued kissing her, with his hand pressed gently against her stomach.

“But what if it is wrong? What if the moment is wrong?”

“What are you so afraid of?”

She took a deep breath then let it out gradually, trying to ease the nervousness to speak of that which she dreaded most. “I suppose that I fear not being able to feel. Being broken.”

“Hush, don’t think so much.” He stroked her belly with a slow, circular motion. “You belong to me now, Catriona. It’s your place to obey and submit, not to question.”

She took another deep breath and tried to obey. He continued to stoke her, to kiss her shoulder. He swept aside her hair and kissed her nape. Just as hours earlier, his touch melted away her physical tension.

He stroked the underside of her breasts. Tingling spread along her flesh and the first twinges of heat gathered in her lower belly. He continued stroking her breasts, lightly grazing her increasingly hardened nipples. She was aware of his arousal, his scent, his strength surrounding her. She remembered his steadfast support, his patience and willingness to listen to all of her painful memories and present troubles. His comfort.

He had banished Freddy’s ghost from her waking hours.

She trusted James.

If the moment wasn’t completely right, he would make it right. She could put herself into his hands and trust him not to stumble or drop her.

She took another deep breath, this time trembling with rising arousal, closing her eyes and letting herself become lost in the sensations his slow caresses engendered in her.

When she started moaning, pleading for more, she wasn’t exactly sure. The sound of her own voice had surprised her; that hoarse, throaty tone seemed completely alien to her. She was saying silly, incoherent things. She couldn’t stop herself.

He handled her more roughly, pinching her nipples between his thumb and forefinger. Squeezing her breasts. Biting at her nape.

He was also praising her breasts for their beauty, their soft-firmness. She heard him, distantly, over the roar of her heart’s beat in her ears.

He took her hand, pulled it down until it rested between her legs. He pressed it to her center. She felt her own heat and wetness. He moved her hand in a circular motion, so that she brushed her straining, erect nub.

Fire shot through her core.

He sucked her earlobe whilst still holding her hand, guiding it over her sex. He paused, with his hand over hers, both resting lightly over her mons. “You are touching yourself and I am with you. I am with you every moment, feeling every pulsation.”

He began to move her hand in that circular motion again.

Intense pleasure jolted her. Her hips bucked. She cried out.

Oh mercy, it was good, too good.

“It makes me hard as iron to hear your cries of pleasure, to know that you are gaining pleasure from your own touch. I want you to come.” He nipped her earlobe, a slight sharp sensation that sent thrills through her already tingling body. “I am here with you, sharing every moment. I am enjoying the journey as much as you are. I cannot wait to feel you come. To hear you come.”

He kept repeating similar phrases.

His deep voice comforted her even as it heightened her arousal.

“Do you feel me, here with you?” he asked.

Of course she felt him. He was hard as rock against her. But she knew what he really meant. She had never, ever felt so close to another person. Had never felt so cherished, wanted.

Accepted.

“Do you feel me with you?” he repeated.

“Yes, yes!” she cried. “I feel you, James. I
feel
you.”

He quickened the pace of their combined touch, increased the pressure, as he kissed and licked her neck. Now he whispered the most indecent of words, his breath hot against her neck. No, not indecent.

Beautiful.

Beautiful words of lust and passion. Private, sacred secrets shared between lovers.

She couldn’t speak now. Her breath was forcing itself out in harsh pants, in between her cries.

Fiery sparks licked through her core, up into her belly. Her channel contracted, again and again, in spasms that wracked her whole body. Flames of pleasure that consumed her, or so she fancied…

She lay panting. Dizzy. Breathless.

His hand still lay over hers, lightly.

Her core was ticking, deep, deep inside.

Oh dear heavens.

She had come.

She had actually
come.

It had happened almost before she had realized that she would, that she could really come. But it had finally happened, after all this time. With his help.

But—but, oh but it had ended so quickly.

Too quickly.

“James…” She heard that hoarse, desperate note in her voice. She sounded near tears. No, she was crying. Tears of intense emotion streaming down her cheeks. “Oh, James!”

“I know.” His voice was husky, unlike she had ever heard it before.

“Oh, James! Please, please!” She sobbed, half gasping, half choking as she was forced to breathe. “Please!”

“I know, sweeting, I know.”

He was rolling her onto her back. He shoved his thigh between hers.

She clasped his shoulders and cried out sharply, arching her pelvis wildly.

He grasped her hips. “Be still!” He ground the words out harshly.

She couldn’t help herself. She was crying, arching, her nails digging into his shoulders.

He grasped her more forcefully, holding her still, then entering her in one fierce thrust, filling her, stretching her.

She threw her head back. Her scream burnt her ears.

Her heart was beating so hard…could it really beat that hard, for that long?