A Lascivious Lady (7 page)

“…be dried enough by tomorrow afternoon. I may depart then. I have not yet decided.”

Josephine blinked as she realized she had missed half of what Traverson had just said. Blushing, she turned her head to the side and stared fixedly at a portrait on the wall of Catherine surrounded by her three daughters. “Would you care for a walk?” she asked softly.

“A walk? Outside?”

The hint of a smile curved her lips. “Yes Traverson,” she said, glancing at him from the corner of her eye, “a walk outside. You told me once you find the indoors oppressive, did you not?”

He took a step towards her. Stopped. Frowned. “You remembered that?”

Josephine nodded. “Yes. I… well I realize I may not always appear to be listening to what you are saying, but I can assure you I am. Well, at least half of the time,” she amended when she caught the skepticism play across his face. “Oh fine, mayhap only one third.

But you must know that when you go off discussing beetles and insects and worms I always become quite tired and it is difficult to pay attention.”

Traverson walked across the parlor and extended his arm. She took it silently, curling her fingers around his forearm with practiced ease. When he bent his head she caught her breath in anticipation, but he only leaned in close to say, “Then I shall do my best to refrain from discussing beetles and insects and worms, although I must admit that does not leave much in the way of conversation.”

“Luckily I always have a myriad of topics I am prepared to discuss at any one time,” Josephine began as they left the mansion and started down the drive towards the stables. “Like the dress Lady Tattersall wore to the Opera last Thursday. You would think with her color hair that she would know enough not to pair orange with—”

“Gossip is not discussion,” Traverson interrupted, slanting her a sideways glance.

Tossing her head back, Josephine grinned up at him. It was a natural grin, one where she did not worry about the corners of her eyes crinkling or the way the left side of her mouth tipped up just a bit higher than the right. “My discussion is always about gossip,”

she informed him.

“Did you know the Formica rufa, more commonly known as the southern wood ant, can lift twenty times its own body weight?

In fact, if you were to measure the lifting capacity of an ant and compare it to that of a human, science says that—”

“All right, all right!” Josephine cried, throwing up her free hand in mock surrender. “No insects or gossip. I swear it.”

“And what, pray tell, does that leave as a topic of conversation?” Traverson asked, sounding as though he were only half jesting.

Reaching the end of the driveway they doubled around and followed a narrow path to a nearby field while Josephine mulled over her answer. When they had walked within a small grove of trees, effectively cutting them off from view of the mansion, she tugged on Traverson’s arm, motioning him to stop, and spoke in a hesitant voice so soft as to barely be heard. “We could talk about ourselves.”

Every muscle in Traverson’s body tightened. “Why would we do that?”

“Because… Well, because we are married.”

“Are we?” Drawing his arm free, Traverson turned to face her. His eyes were deadly serious, his face so hard as to have been carved from stone. “A signed document cannot hold two people together if they wish to stay apart.”

When, Josephine wondered silently as she studied her husband’s drawn expression, did our roles reverse so completely?

“Kiss me,” she said impulsively, clutching the collar of his shirt with both hands. The white linen felt soft beneath her fingertips.

She inhaled the scent of him, earthy and masculine and something else she could not quite put her finger to. So different than the men who powdered their hair and wore women’s perfume.

She had been so worried that Traverson would never be seen as a man due to his lowly title, when she should have realized all along it was not the title who made the man, but rather the man who made the title. No, her husband was not a Duke or a Marquess and she would never be a Duchess, but when one could have so much more than that, how could they complain? Traverson loved her unconditionally. Or at least, he had. And I shall make him love me anew , she promised herself as she stared into the smoky depths of his gray eyes.

“W-what are you getting at?” he asked, clearing his throat.

Josephine could not help but smile. Here was a man who would never take advantage of her. A man who would never use her and discard her, as William had done. A man who saw past her beauty to what was inside, dark and troubled as it was. A man so imperfectly perfect for her that it was astounding she had not seen it before. Or perhaps she simply had not been ready to see what had been right in front of her the entire time. Not until now. Not until this very moment in time.

“Kiss me,” she repeated softly. Standing on her tiptoes she grazed her lips across the curve of his jaw, delighting in the rough feel of his beard. Traverson had not shaved since coming to Kensington, and she found the shadow that covered his chin to be quite…

arousing. “When a woman asks you to kiss her, ‘tis best not to spend too much time contemplating your answer,” she murmured against his ear.

Traverson hissed out a breath between his teeth, his body fairly vibrating with tension. “Josephine…” he said, the warning note in his tone unmistakable.

“What?” All innocence, she hooked one finger inside of her collar and trailed the edge of her nail against his skin, leaving a path of goose bumps behind. “No one can see us. We are all alone, just you and I. Have you not dreamed of this moment?”

“A thousand times,” he replied raggedly.

Josephine arched one eyebrow. “Just a thousand? Well, we will have to change that, will we not? Kiss me, Traverson. Kiss me as if you never want to let me go.” She offered him her body, pushing against him until they were perfectly aligned, chest to chest, belly to belly, thigh to thigh. Tipping up her chin she closed her eyes and waited.

“This is a terrible idea,” he said.

“I know,” she whispered. “But let’s do it anyway.”

On a savage oath, he pressed his lips to hers.

It felt like he was sinking. Sinking into dark, tumultuous waters. Sinking into Josephine. She curved around him, her slender body sinuous as a serpent’s as her arms wound up on either side of his neck and her fingers tangled in the ends of his hair.

She smelled of honeysuckle and something darker. Something dangerous. He breathed her in as they came together, her lips against his lips, her tongue against his tongue. She whimpered low in her throat, and every inch of him grew hard.

There was no gentleness as Traverson skimmed his hands through her tightly wound coiffure and scattered the pins across the grass. No soft wooing as he wound his fingers through her tangled waterfall of golden mane and pulled, forcing her mouth to slant against his at a new angle that allowed him to plunder and punish.

Undaunted by his aggressiveness she met him stroke for stroke, her nails digging into his back through the thin linen of his shirt.

There was a fire within him, burning from the inside out. The flames licked away his inhibitions. Scorched his doubts. There were no what ifs. There were no questions. There was only lust and love and Josephine.

“Take me,” she pleaded, breaking free to nip at his neck where his pulse fluttered. “Take me, Traverson. Here. Now.”

Together they sank down to the earth. Wildflowers were Josephine’s pillow, Traverson’s long, lean body her blanket. She smiled coyly at him, her violet eyes glowing with a hungry passion that stole the very breath from his lungs. Suddenly he was hesitant, doubt growing as he realized his experience with women was a mere pittance compared to Josephine’s with men. Would she find him terribly lacking? Could he satisfy her? Did he even know how to satisfy her?

As if she could sense his pending withdrawal, Josephine grasped his shoulders, her slender fingers wrapping around the hardened muscle, and pulled him slowly, insistently down. “Do not think,” she whispered, nuzzling the sensitive flesh that lay between his neck and collarbone. “Love me, Traverson. Love me as you have always wanted to.”

Her hips bucked suggestively, arching up into his arousal, and he gritted his teeth against the sheer, intoxicating pleasure of it all.

Pushing his doubts aside he fell upon her, tearing the sheer fabric of her gown away to expose the thin chemise that lay beneath. Her dusky nipples were clearly visible and, gently guided by her knowing hands, he lowered his head to suckle first one and then the other until Josephine cried out his name.

With a growl Traverson reared up and ripped her chemise open, tearing the delicate stays until her breasts spilled forth, her nipples already damp and glistening in the afternoon sun. She writhed beneath him, her clever fingers reaching down, down, down until she was able to slip beneath the waistband of his trousers and stroke along his hardened length.

He trembled, his palms splaying flat across the ground as he braced himself against the heat that clutched greedily at him, threatening to spill his seed before his cock ever felt the silken wetness of Josephine’s sex.

“Do you like that?” she cooed, the suggestive gleam in her eye telling him she knew exactly how close he was to coming as her hand worked up and down his arousal.

“Stop,” he groaned, reaching between them to catch her wrist in an iron clad grip that left her pouting. Lifting her arm above her head, he captured her other hand with ease and, holding her pinned beneath him, slipped his own fingers beneath her skirts, pushing them up until they bunched around her thighs. “You are not wearing any undergarments,” he said, the shock on his face mirroring the shock in his voice as his fingertips trailed up against one bare thigh, the feel of her skin like the smoothest of silk.

“Oh dear,” she said, not looking apologetic in the least. “I must have forgotten to put on my drawers this morning. You shall simply have to – oh,” she gasped as he found the core of her and easily slipped one finger inside to stroke, “oh Traverson… Yes…

Keeping doing… Yes, just like that.”

He joined another finger with the first, thrusting back and forth until Josephine writhed beneath him, tossing her head from side to side in mindless pleasure. She strained against his hold on her wrists, frustration showing in the set of her mouth and the little line that creased her forehead. Suddenly she stiffened, her eyes slanting closed, her lips parting…

Traverson felt the heart of her sex clenching as she teetered on the edge, but he denied her release with a low chuckle as his fingers withdrew. The power of controlling the uncontrollable surged through him like a lightening strike, and even when Josephine’s eyes widened in distress and she begged him to touch her, to take her, to ravish her, he took dark delight in bringing her to the brink again and again, only to deny what she craved at the last second.

Only when she had been reduced to mewling little pants of breath and her body was a quivering mass of unsatisfied arousal did he remove his pants and release her wrists. She was on him in an instant, her nails clawing down his back to his buttocks as her teeth found his ear and nipped painfully.

“I will make you pay for that,” she hissed, and Traverson barely suppressed his smile. Make him pay for keeping her from coming again and again? He was counting on it.

He allowed her to roll them over until she straddled his hips, her wild mane raining down like a golden curtain as she lowered her mouth to tease his nipples. Using her tongue, she began to trace a path down his body, licking and nibbling as she went until his breathing was ragged and every muscle in his body was tensed well before she took him into her mouth.

“Bloody hell,” he gasped, letting his head fall back. He buried his fingers in her hair, coaxing her on even as he readied himself to tear her away. With a cat licking the cream little smile she slithered up his body and the naughty things she whispered in his ear as she positioned her sex over his aching cock caused his jaw to clench and his hands to curl into fists.

Rearing back she plunged herself upon him, her breasts bouncing as she rode him up and down. He cupped her hips, urging her on, and when she cried out and he felt her wetness clench tight around his cock he came with a shout, thrusting into her again and again, until lightening truly did seem to strike the sky and thunder rumbled in the distance.

Josephine lay sprawled across Traverson’s chest, eyes closed, limbs heavy, simply listening to his heart beat. His chest rose and fell in time with his breaths, and she absently traced a pattern around one exposed nipple.

They had not, she realized with a deep sense of satisfaction, even bothered to take off all of their clothes. Her chemise was in tatters beside her, but she still wore her dress and Traverson his shirt.

“Do you know,” she murmured as she nestled into the curve of his shoulder, “I have never made love outside before.”

Even before Traverson stiffened and rolled to the side, she knew it had been a foolish thing to say. Sitting up on one elbow, she reached towards him.

“Do not,” Traverson said, his tone sharp as the fine edge of a knife. Standing, he searched for his trousers and, finding them discarded in a flock of yellow wildflowers, dressed quickly.

Bewildered by his cold demeanor, Josephine’s brow furrowed. “Whatever is the matter?”

“Cover yourself,” Traverson spat, ignoring her question as his eyes dropped to her naked breasts. “Is this how you draw the men back to your bed? By displaying your wares like a common trollop?”

Josephine’s hiss of indignation was muffled by a sudden surge of crows that swooped low overhead, their dark wings casting shadows upon the meadow as they cackled amidst each other, their beady eyes shining bright. Clumsily pulling up her gown she sprang to her feet and just managed to avoid falling when her bare foot caught on the hem of her skirt. Not accustomed to being so graceless, she was out of breath by the time she managed to put herself to rights. Sweeping her unbound hair over one shoulder, she narrowed her eyes and lifted her chin.