Jayne Fresina (3 page)

Evidently he was not the sort to trouble himself with knots and bows. In a quick burst of wry amusement, Lucy thought of her maid’s face tomorrow when she saw the corset’s sad fate.

With one impatient tug he freed her likewise of her shift. It tumbled down to her wrists and hips, where it came to a whispering halt. She closed her eyes, gathering her courage again. For just a few startled moments, she’d relaxed her guard and likewise the reins. Now her nerves galloped in every direction, almost out of reach.

His breath was on the nape of her neck. And then he touched her.

Oh.

She’d forgotten to make him wash his hands.

He stroked lightly down her spine with his fingertips, to the dip of her waist and back again. Then he spread them to her shoulders and down her arms, as if he measured her, as if she were a young filly at auction and he a prospective buyer. It was not at all the way she imagined. Having received a brief theory lesson from her knowledgeable maid, she was prepared for a quick “in and out” that might take no more than five minutes at the most.

Head bowed, eyes closed, she murmured, “Blow out the candles.”

“No,” he replied gruffly, “I want to see.”

She repeated her command, louder this time.

He kept his hands around her naked waist, fingers spread. “I’ll keep the candles lit.”

Lucy was accustomed to being obeyed by servants. This man, in her eyes, was simply another who should do as she bid, without question. “Do as I say. At once! I’m paying you, remember? This is on my terms! Mine!”

In reply, he jerked the sleeves free of her wrists, and then only the curve of her hip prevented the silk shift from falling. She felt it ready to drop, hanging there to save her modesty as if by its own willpower.

“Blow out the candles,” she repeated.

This time he must have noticed her tremble, for his voice softened, turned husky. “Say please, then.”

After a short struggle, she breathed the word, rare on her lips, and he finally complied with her wishes, extinguishing the candles, one by one, until there was only light from the young spring moon. He moved his hands around her from behind, his sinewy arms under hers, strong fingers splayed to cup her breasts. No one had ever touched her like this. He hadn’t even asked permission. She felt marked already, despoiled, merely by his forceful hands on her breasts, the rough pads of his brazen fingers caressing her nipples. She worried he would hear her heart thumping away–surely it vibrated along her backbone. There was no way to hide it. She could mask her face, but not those emotions pounding through her like galloping horse hooves.

His lips were on the nape of her neck, his teeth gently nipping. His warm breath stirred the little hairs straying from her caul and, with far greater alacrity than she, a woman never before touched so intimately, might expect, the anxiety faded. He kissed her ear, the side of her neck and her shoulder, his mouth moving wetly over her skin. Perhaps there was magic in his hands and lips, some elixir rendering her calm, soothed.

Ready.

“Where shall we begin?” His unshaven chin grazed her shoulder, while he slid a hand down her naked belly and gripped the silk shift where it bunched around her hips.

She gasped, a sharp burst of nervous laughter shooting out. How did she know what to ask for? She circumvented the question. “I’m spoiled for choice. With so much on offer how does one begin?”

“A smart-mouthed wench, eh?”

“A very wicked and disobedient one, I’m afraid. Will you get on with it, or are you all talk?”

He drew a quick, sharp breath. “I can see I’ve got my work cut out for me. Since no other man has taken you in hand, I’d best see to your guidance.”

Anticipation rippled through her every nerve, the touch of his hands and his words somehow communicating with parts of her which until now had lain dormant.

In the next beat of her heart, the shift fell from her hips, slithered over her thighs, stroked her knees and pooled soft around her feet. Immediately he was there, hard and warm, pressed to her bottom and the small of her back.

He moved to unpin the caul, a gold mesh net holding her bound hair.

“No,” she gasped. “Leave it.”

“I want it down.”

“And I say it stays.” She mustn’t be in too much disarray upon her return, in case she encountered anyone other than the maid.

Hands resting lightly on her shoulders, he turned her to face him. “The mask then. Take that off at least.”

“No!” Bracing for another argument, she tried to ignore the heat radiating from her nipples, where they brushed his chest.

“Is there any part of this we can agree upon, do you think?” He sounded bemused rather than angry. “Are you going to let me do this my way, or not?”

“I’m the customer,” she pointed out tartly. “Shouldn’t it be my way?” He would fight her for control, she knew it. This man was no fool, neither was he afraid of a challenge. A strange excitement bubbled and whispered within her. Like recognized like, she thought. Here, in a Norwich bawdy house, of all places, she’d found someone as stubborn as herself.

One hand to his mouth, he hid either a curse or a chuckle. More likely the latter, since his eyes were very warm, his lashes lowered slyly.

Lucky for him, the contrary fellow was really very pleasing to look upon. To her surprise, even better naked. “We’ll compromise,” she conceded breathlessly. “You may take down the hair. But not the mask.” If only he knew how great a concession that was. She never willingly gave any man even her hand to kiss.

He tugged a pretend forelock. “Why, I thank you most humbly ma’am!”

“I’ll change my mind if you don’t hurry.”

His blue eyes gleamed in the moonlight. “Impatient for me?”

“No,” was the curt rejoinder, “Just impatient.”

The pins were speedily discarded, gold mesh tossed aside. Her hair tumbled free and as the heavy lengths fell to her shoulders, over her bared breasts and down to her hips, she cursed herself for giving in. He was a persuasive fellow. His smile, oddly endearing, brought out a softer side in her she never knew existed.

Wrapping her hair around his knuckles, he brought it to his face, murmuring softly, as if he’d never seen or felt anything like it. While he explored, she remained still, her hands at her sides, resisting the urge to cover herself now, although wearing only her stockings, garters and her favorite pearl earrings.

He ran his thumb across her mouth, pressing down on the lower lip. She had time for only one quick breath, and wondered if he inspected her teeth now too, before his lips descended to hers and pried them further open. Lucy had never been kissed on the mouth. Never. Astonished, she stood quietly and let him do it.

His ale-spiced lips were firm, certainly knew what they did and were not at all objectionable. The tongue, however, was an alarming development. With his hands around her face, she couldn’t pull away, so she tried to quell the anxiety, chiding herself for it. Let him have his kiss, if he wanted it. She supposed it would do no harm.

Brushing her hair aside, he gazed down at her breasts. Again she waited, glad of the semi-darkness to hide her hot cheeks. With an odd sound, deep in his throat, he ducked his head and took her nipple in his mouth, sliding his hand down her back, holding her close.

What the devil was he doing? This was supposed to take no more than a few minutes. She knew the basics of what must be done, but he seemed to be taking the long way around to it. He stroked her bottom, pressing her even closer so she felt his erection, hard and hot against her stomach. Her blood fizzled and sparked, as if laced with gunpowder. But again he delayed. Slowly he sank down, licking a meandering course down her body. Lucy bit back the cries singing in the back of her throat. She must not get carried away. She must not…

He licked her belly.

His mouth grazed her hip.

He kissed her inner thigh.

And when she moved her hands finally, knotting her fingers through his hair, she felt his tongue dart out, touching her most private place, his lips kissing her where she’d never dreamed. He was now on his knees before her, his hands around her thighs.

Oh.

She held her breath, almost lost her footing.

Oh.

This was most definitely not to plan.

Holding her firm, he tasted her, while she trembled like a newborn lamb, amazed by his audacity, but also at herself for allowing it. This was too much. She would shatter into a thousand pieces if she let him continue like this.

She should never have…

With a small, breathless cry, she arched, waves of pleasure flooding her body, every tiny hidden part of her too sensitive and all of it, every inch, at the mercy of his tongue. Her knees weakened until she almost tumbled forward and only his powerful hands, clasped around her stockinged thighs, kept her upright. When she attempted to pull his head back by the hair, he grunted in protest and another rush of heat overtook her, stealing the strength from her limbs.

“My good fellow, this is not necessary, you know. Stop that!”

He did as she asked this time, looking up at her, moonlight shining in his eyes. He was breathtaking. Not smoothly well-favored like other gentlemen she knew, but like a barbarian, hard, unrefined, even brutally handsome.

It was tempting to let him continue as he wished, to let him take all the time in the world he wanted; however, there must be no deviation from the plan. Time was wasting. He, of course, knew nothing of any plan. Nothing about the maid waiting anxiously to let her in at the servants’ entrance before first light crept over the sky, nor about her strict father, who sat up late to read and rose early to walk, no matter what the weather.

“Hurry and get on with it, then,” she exclaimed. “Take me to the bed and…do what needs to be done. No more of this delay.”

His expression, so easily read, told her she was lucky. He wouldn’t usually hear a woman’s commands. She was trying his patience and he was primed. Yes, this too was gloriously evident as he stood again before her, not bothering to hide. In fact, he showed off, boldly confident in his raw male beauty.

The only other naked man she’d ever seen was her brother, when she once burst in on him by accident as he dressed. At the time, it made her laugh, much to her brother’s chagrin. As a young girl, she’d thought how glad she was not to have such an unwieldy burden to hide away. Women were fortunate to have everything neatly tucked out of sight.

But now she thanked the good Lord for giving her some idea of what to expect. She also had her maid’s careful explanation of its purpose, so she was not utterly at a loss, however, to have this stranger’s large appendage thrust upon her was quite another matter. Under no circumstances would that thing fit anywhere…she couldn’t even finish the thought.

He took her by the waist, holding her hard against the item in question. “Are you ready for this now?” he whispered, leading her hand to his erection, watching her lips, which had yet to recover from the invasion of his kiss.

“I don’t think it will fit.”

He laughed. “I’ll make it fit.”

She swallowed hard, grateful for her leather mask, which hid most of her expression, but whatever he saw in her lips made him press another gentle kiss to her hot cheek. “You leave it to me, my lovely wench.” There was the slight twist of a question in his tone, as if she puzzled him and he still couldn’t make out her purpose there in his arms.

She struggled to remain aloof. “Very well then. Proceed.”

Dipping his head, he put his mouth to her other breast, teasing her nipple with his lips and tongue, relishing, savoring. He was in no hurry, intent on taking his time. With one timid hand, Lucy touched his manhood again. Instantly he reacted, the broad head swelling further, thick veins pulsing, pushing against her tentative, exploring caress. He closed his fingers around her wrist, as if he meant to stop her, but then he was guiding her hand, up and down, setting the pace to a slower tempo, even as his breath quickened.

Alas, through the open shutters, the sound of church bells rang out. “’Tis the hour of nine already,” she groaned, turning her face toward the sound.

At first, one hand still pacing her strokes, he seemed not to hear. Then, waking himself, he muttered, “Do I keep you from more important business, wench?”

“Yes. I can’t stay long, so make haste.”

There was a sharp silence, cutting the cool air. He dropped her wrist. When she looked at him, his eyes were afire, his breath exhaled in short, shallow gasps.

Fearing she might have insulted him in some way, trying to ignore the warm strength of his hand spread across her bare back, which, for some reason, seemed just as intimate as when he’d touched her between the thighs, Lucy tried to coax him forward. “You may as well get on with it.” Still holding his manhood, she now grew bolder out of desperation, stroking up and down, faster without his guidance. “This item is all we need, is it not? It seems…prepared.”

His mouth opened, but nothing came out.

“I’m only here to give away my maidenhead. It won’t take long will it?”

She might have slapped his face. It surely couldn’t have achieved that expression of shock and horror in any other way. Afraid he might leave, she grabbed his free hand, placing it over her breast.

“Don’t mind me,” she said. “You may continue.”

Chapter 3

John Sydney Carver concluded he must have drunk more than he thought. Or else he’d fallen through to an alternate world, where women made the decisions and men were expected to obey like mindless playthings.

Or someone was out to play a trick on him. Cousin Nathaniel, for instance.

He exploded. “Your what?” He snatched his hand away from her breast, as if her skin was scalding hot. “A virgin? You’d best explain yourself, madam!”

Wide-eyed under her mask, she said nothing. This sweet-tasting, naked young woman, who should be guarded with greater care by whichever male was responsible, had nothing to say for herself.

Appalled, he spun away and sat on the edge of the bed, hands on his knees, shoulders slumped. “A virgin?” he repeated, as if she’d just announced she had the French pox.