His Desirable Debutante (2 page)

“Set it down on the bed next to her,” Pierce directed. “I will feed my bride myself.”

The red-cheeked, flushing footman obeyed but did not take his gaze off Helene.

Helene stared at the young man wondering what Pierce’s game was, but her husband’s expression revealed none of his motives. What kind of monster would allow his near-naked wife to be seen by servants? Sadly, she wanted to feel humiliated, but in truth, she was flattered and titillated by the visual attentions paid her by her husband and the young footman. She shifted subtly and brushed her hardened nipples against the lace of her gown.

The footman’s cheeks flamed hotter and an obvious bulge began to distend from his trousers. Helene caught sight and forced herself to close her eyes, feeling every inch like a whore, because, instead of being ashamed, she was aroused and wanted to touch that footman. A litany of names ran through her mind and she called herself every one, beginning with Eve and ending with trollop.

“Go.” Pierce said to the footman, and then sat down on the bed beside her. “Don’t feign virginal modesty, my little beauty. I saw you looking at Roberts like you wanted to spread your legs for him and let him stick his cock into your tight creamy passage.”

She gasped at his crude language, but to her everlasting shame, felt dampness in said passage. Still, she held on to a semblance of modesty. “Please,” she begged, “don’t. I
am
a virgin.”

He let out a mocking laugh and raised an eyebrow. “A virgin?”

She nodded furiously. “It’s true. All the rumors about me were false. I am innocent.” She couldn’t quite meet his eye on the word
innocent.

His shock and doubt were understandable. After all, a true innocent would never have done what she had; touching herself in that bathtub, giving in to her unnatural urges. But he didn’t know what she’d done and had simply made assumptions based unfairly on whispers and innuendo circling the Ton.

All those long-suppressed urges flooded back into her limp body with Pierce’s large body so close to hers. For the first time, she felt grateful her hands were bound, for if they were not, they might have moved of their own volition to the junction of her legs and rubbed till she gained release from this building pressure. But she couldn’t. That way led to ruin and was unnatural, or so she’d been told by the vicious laughter of the other debutante who’d caught her in the bath at the house party three years ago.

Pierce continued to watch her with curiosity etched on his face. “There’s one way to discover if you’re speaking the truth, but I don’t think you’re ready yet, much as I want you. If you
are
a virgin, this changes my plans somewhat. Slows the pacing down.” He bit his lip in thought.

“What plans?” Helene asked, unable to maintain stoicism.

“An education. A slow initiation into sexual pleasure unlike my own abrupt freefall into decadence.” For a moment, his mind wandered to a place distant from this room, and then with a low chuckle he refocused on her. “For now, though, some food. Since your hands are tied, I will have the honor of feeding my bride.”

She opened her mouth to protest, but he spooned a small helping of poached salmon glazed with the most delicate yet delicious of sauces. She chewed, keenly aware of his heated stare on her lips. A slight drizzle of sauce glistened on the corner of her mouth, and he leaned closer till their faces were mere inches from each other. His masculine scent mingled with the delicate fish sauce adding a spiciness she’d not tasted before.

He leaned in as if to lick the errant drop of sauce away, but at the last moment swept it up with a broad index finger then touched the finger to her parted lips. A deep smile of satisfaction covered his mouth when her tongue darted out to lick the drop on his finger.

She couldn’t believe she was so daring, but inside his candlelit bedroom it was like all the rules had disappeared. Society as a whole was gone, and the world was just Pierce and Helena. They continued in that vein for some minutes with Pierce carefully feeding her, but allowing measured drops of food to fall on her mouth, her chin, and finally, her bosom.

He spared a rapid glance down at her pale, smooth skin marred only by a glistening drop of sauce. Much as he wanted to bend his head and apply his tongue to the task of removing it, he forced his gaze back up to return Helene’s wide-eyed stare. The rapid rise and fall of her breasts had revealed how affected she was by his treatment. Poor little virgin. When she’d laid claim to innocence, he’d had one tiny doubting moment, but he firmly believed her now. Only a true innocent would be so affected by the simple act of feeding her.

Not that he could claim to be unaffected himself. He was hard as stone and had been since entering the room and viewing his wife laid out like a feast for his dining pleasure. Her dusky nipples peeked out of the lacy gown he’d dressed her in and if he added some more candles, he knew he’d be able to see the dark shadow of hair at her sweet cunt.

Though that path was barred to him. Not until she begged and he knew she wanted it as much as he did. His wife should be a willing participant, the opposite of his first bedroom experience. But he was a long way from that scared little boy in the whore’s boudoir, and with a return to concentration, Pierce swiped the last drop off the rise of her breast taking care to brush the hardened, sensitive nub.

With a hidden smile he lifted the tray off the bed and bid her adieu. “Good night, sweet Helene. I’ll send someone along for the tray shortly.” And without a backward look for his wife, he left, wondering how long he’d manage to stay away.

How dare he? Helene kicked aside the blankets in a fit of fury, pretending it was her husband’s solid body instead. How could he leave her like this? Bound and aching. She couldn’t possibly be expected to sleep like this.

“Bastard!” Her yell at the closed door did little to vent her frustration.

“Well,” an older, sensible-looking woman huffed as she swung through the doorway. “Oh. Oh, my.” She bustled over to the bed clucking her commiseration. “So it’s true then? He’s gone and married. And it’s no wonder you’re shouting up a storm, tied up the way you are. It’s been more than twenty years since I swatted his bottom, but if that’s what it takes to make him treat his wife with the respect she deserves, I’ll do it.”

The woman’s appearance had Helene flushing with mortification and scrambling to pull the covers back over her exposed body, a near-impossible task with bound hands. “Who…who are you?”

“Oh, dearie, I’m the housekeeper. Mrs. Tofty.” She paced the room, shaking a curtain here, plumping a pillow there, clearly agitated. With a head shake she released sigh after sigh. “I wouldn’t have thought it. His own
wife
.”

“Mrs. Tofty.”

“His poor mother.
What
would she think?”

“
Mrs
.
Tofty
.”

“I’ve kept my mouth shut all these years. Well, what could I say when he was under his father’s influence, but now…hmmph. I thought he was moving past his wilder days and settling down, and—”

“Mrs. Tofty!” Helene finally shouted to interrupt the tirade spouting from the housekeeper. “Can you please untie me?”

Her question served to silence the older woman, but was met with a saddened look and unequivocal denial.

“I’m so sorry, my dear, or should I say
my lady?
His lordship would be furious if I disobeyed his wishes. He wouldn’t dismiss me, but he could make my remaining years very unpleasant.” She bit her lip and crushed her apron. “No, I dare not risk it,” she said, more to herself than to Helene. “I’d best go.”

“No!” begged Helene, then reminded herself that she was now mistress of this house, and held some authority here, even tied up as she was. “Please, stay. Come chat with me.” She patted the space on the foot of the bed with her heel and did her best to look like the elegant lady of the manor rather than the whore she was dressed as.

Mrs. Tofty stopped in her tracks and turned to perch on the foot of the bed, appearing pleased as punch to be invited to stay. “I dare not stay long,” she warned. “Brandford will be back soon.”

Helene nodded, grateful for female, motherly company. “Speaking of his lordship, you mentioned his mother. What was she like? And his father, did you know him, as well? And how did you know I was his wife. I could be one of his many lovers.”

With a sigh, the older woman settled in for a good cozy dish. “First of all, you’re his wife, because he’s never brought one of his harlots to this estate. You’re the first woman in that bed since his lordship’s poor mother. And speaking of…I was just a girl when I met Pierce’s mother. Just come from the village to the main house to work as a junior maid.” She paused, lost in her recollections for a moment, then continued. “I was of an age with Lady Daphne and developed a closeness with her. When she left to marry Lord Brandford, I went with her.” She shuddered at the memory.

“What? What happened?” She leaned forward, eager to know what terrible fate befell Pierce’s mother to make Mrs. Tofty shudder like that, but masculine voices in the hallway cut off any more revelations.

The housekeeper jumped off the bed with surprising speed for a woman of her years and was halfway to the door when it opened again.

Helene’s enigmatic husband appeared in the doorway and nodded at Mrs. Tofty as she exited. “I’ve called for a bath,” he said. “How are your arms feeling?”

She looked at him in a whole new light, knowing now she was the only woman to grace this bed despite his formidable reputation as a bed hopper. It gave her a strange thrill knowing that little secret, but she couldn’t let him gain such an upper hand this early in the marriage. “How do you think they feel?”

“I wouldn’t know. I’ve never allowed myself to be tied up.” He smiled as if this was one of his great accomplishments. Like a great hunting cat she’d once seen at an exhibition, he prowled toward the bed. He’d lost his waistcoat and cravat since his last visit and a hint of mysterious masculine skin peeked through the top of his shirt.

Pierce loosened her bonds even further, allowing her sore arms to drop to her sides from sheer exhaustion. A knock at the door turned her attention and she gaped as Pierce opened the door to a bevy of footmen holding buckets of steaming water.

“A bath for my lady before this evening’s entertainment?” he asked with a glint in his eye.

A bath? With him watching? Never. And what did he mean by
entertainment
? He’d promised not to take her virginity without consent, so that couldn’t be it.

“No?” He cocked his head at her silence. “Very well. No sense wasting all this warm water. Jenny and Thomas will just have to postpone their show until tomorrow.” His arms crossed at the bottom of his waist and tugged his shirt out of his trousers and up over his head. “Gerrit, come assist me,” he called into the next room.

She tried, she truly did, not to watch Pierce disrobe, and as more masculine skin surfaced she clenched the bedsheets at her sides.

A young, tall footman entered. Presumably Gerrit, his valet, but he was like no valet she’d ever seen with his white-blond hair and golden skin.

“My lord?” Gerrit stepped up to Pierce, who sat on the end of the bed, and yanked off his boots in one easy pull. “Shall I assist you in your bath?”

“Yes.” He turned his back to her and spoke quietly to the valet so she couldn’t hear his words. The two men of equal height stood, heads bent close, her husband’s dark, the valet’s golden blond. Her breath caught as Gerrit unbuttoned the front of Pierce’s trousers and rolled them down revealing nearly sheer underclothes showing teasing hints of his masculine staff.

She should look away. Immediately. Her descent to ruin would be complete if she stayed her gaze, but her eyes remained riveted as Gerrit pulled off even more of Pierce’s clothes till he stood totally nude next to the bathtub. Her legs shifted restlessly against the mattress at the sight of his muscular chest and powerful thighs. It only got worse when Pierce lowered himself into the tub and Gerrit removed his own coat and kneeled before the tub.

Look away, look
away
, Helene told herself furiously but her eyes remained glued to the sight before her.

Pierce rested his head back as Gerrit circled the soapy cloth over his shoulders and down to his chest. The hardness of his cock owed little to the attentions of the young valet and everything to the fascinated woman perched on the bed. His wife. A young innocent. Who would have thought that he, a completely debauched boor could hold any semblance of protective feelings toward a virgin? Certainly not anyone else in London, and yet here he was moving at a snail’s pace in the seduction of his wife for fear of bruising her tender feelings and traumatizing her the way he’d lost his innocence.

“My lord?” Gerrit said. “Would you like me to assist?” He indicated Pierce’s cock with his bathing cloth. Both of them stared at his throbbing groin for an endless minute before he came to his senses. “No. I’ll take it from here. You may leave.” He wanted to arouse his bride, not send her fleeing to the nearest neighbor. If he played his cards right, someday she would be ready to participate in his little games with willing servants, but not yet.

For now, he lowered a hand down to his aching shaft and stroked from balls to tip. The picture of his nearly nude wife lying nearby served as glorious inspiration. He quickened his strokes and chanced a sideways glance at Helene. To his shock she stared wide-eyed, her face devoid of any color. She was so pale, he feared her fainting, but her eyes remained locked on him, and in particular, his hand on his groin.

“Stop it,” she said, but without real conviction.

“No. I’m too close to stop, but I will share the task if you want to lend a hand?” He stood up in the tub in one swift move, daring her to look away, hoping she did not. His brave wife kept watching, but sadly did not offer to touch. He stepped out of the tub and closer to the bed, close enough to feel the heat from her body and smell her arousal.