My Lady Series Bundle (3 page)

Gabriella quickly crossed her arm over the transparent material that was covering her breasts, placing one hand modestly between her legs as heat flooded her cheeks to burning. She was so confused, feeling indignant, shameful, and yet completely sated somehow. She never imagined in her wildest dreams that a man could bring a woman to such passion!

"Maidenly modesty does not become you at this moment, madame." Drummond raised a perfectly sculpted silver-gray eyebrow in reprove. "Nor shall I allow it to become a part of our newest relationship." He puffed lazily on his cigar with his gaze demanding that she move her arms.

Gabriella huffed, flustered with her familiar and graceful composure, thoroughly in shreds as she floundered, not knowing where or how to act. In one short afternoon her life had completely changed. Nothing seemed of herself anymore and she did not know where to begin to regain the pieces that had become lost or irrevocably changed.

"They prohibited slavery years ago, Lord Kittridge," she exclaimed, principally to halt the words that she would have spoken, begging Drummond to comfort her. Still, she lowered her arms as he silently commanded and she realized in a moment of panic what possession he held over her now.

Drummond ignored her comment wholly, as appeared to be a trait of his, while his gaze boldly studied her barely concealed breasts. "It could have been worse, madame. It was only by chance circumstances that I learned your husband had intentions to sell you. Quite a barbarous ideal, selling one's wife, however, for my purposes, effective."

"Your purposes?" Gabriella questioned in a whisper, holding forth little hope that Drummond would answer her inquiry.

"And to a lower class patron no less." he paused, tilting his head upward for a slow stately puff on his cigar. "Imagine my surprise?"

Gabriella shuddered, but offered no verbal comment as her gaze irrevocably slid down over the length of Drummond's tall frame, while he was not looking at her. Even at his age, he was still the most attractive man that she had ever seen. He was muscular and trim with short cut, silver-gray hair, adding a dramatic and handsome maturity to his tanned and hawkish features.

"And for what?" Drummond mused. "This claim that you are barren?"

Gabriella's mind suddenly fired from its confusion as pain and deep humiliation flared in her breast. She came upright, off the settee, with jerky and angry motions. Remaining mute, she stood and quickly gathered her clothing, holding it before her like a shield. She would not even take the time to dress. What difference could it make after this horrible day? She would find her cloak quickly and that would be enough.

"I choose the streets," she muttered, gazing downward at the shambles of clothing in her arms. Just like her life. She did not hear Drummond's approach, until suddenly he clasped his warm strong hands around her bare upper arms as he turned her to face him.

"That is no longer an option for you, madame."

Her gaze shot to his face. Somehow, he had rid himself of his cigar and she thought she detected a fleeting second of sympathy in his charcoal-gray eyes, coming and going so quick that she was sure she had just imagined it.

"Your husband will no longer have you, madame. That paragon, whom I might mention was chosen over myself twenty-five years ago. You have no further family alive, no money, and the papers signed this day between your husband and myself, while not entirely legally binding, are enough so that if you breach the contract by leaving me without my consent, I could stretch the situation enough to have you arrested, until a lengthy courtroom battle could ascertain the ramifications."

"Jail," Gabriella whispered, horrified.

"The Gaol to be exact, Lady St. John." Drummond paused searching her gaze intently as if to ascertain her complete understanding, then he released her and strode toward his desk saying, "I shall expect you to join me for dinner at seven. Your clothes have been delivered to my chambers where you may go now and refresh yourself. Rest if you need to, madame."

Gabriella remained mute, watching in horrid fascination as Drummond sat in his high-backed desk chair, facing her nonchalantly from across his inlayed marble-topped desk. His gaze was inscrutable, his mouth outlined in perfect masculine firmness, as he casually lifted two of his fingers up to his regal nose, and he inhaled. Then, he licked the tip of his second finger . . . slowly. That same finger that had touched her-her!

Gabriella gasped and fled the room before Drummond's warm, masculine chuckling.

G
abriella came awake several hours later, sprawled on top of Drummond's four poster bed. She had not meant to fall asleep, however the last thing she recalled was weeping uncontrollably into the plush blue quilts. How long had she cried, she had no idea, it had been as if a dam finally burst inside her, and then she must have succumbed to exhaustion after her tears abated.

She sat upright, brushing the brunette tresses of her shoulder length hair away from her face and off her forehead. It was obvious the hairstyle she had worn today, a stylish French twisting braid, was in ruins. Foolishly, that conclusion made her nearly cry again. She had always taken pride, and the time to achieve the best appearance she could present, from her deep chestnut-colored hair, which was soft and elegantly cut, to her long polished fingernails. She might now be the age of a mature woman, however she looked well for her age. Except that now one of her exceptionally long red fingernails was cracked and her life was in ruins.

So why did she feel like sighing? In truth, she felt like running her hands over her body to discover the newness lurking there. She wanted to feel. She wanted to stretch and linger, thinking of the passion, dreaming of Drummond's wicked fingers!

"Oh . . . gracious . . . me," she exclaimed, bringing her hands up to her hot cheeks to keep them from roaming some place on her person. "This is so dangerous . . . he is
so
dangerous," she muttered.
Oh God,
she thought, what was she to do?

At that precise moment Gabriella heard knocking upon the bedroom door and she nearly bolted from the bed in alarm. However, when she took a moment to realize that Drummond would not knock, she gathered her tattered nerves and the quilt about her, calling entrance.

It was a maid of stoic proportions and disposition. Her name was Matilda and her clip accent proclaimed her to be of German descent. The order from Lord Kittridge, Matilda explained, was for Gabriella to bathe and dress for dinner. This followed by no less than six footmen bearing a large and intricately worked brass tub with pails of water to fill it.

"Mien lady, I will return in one half hour," Matilda announced after the footmen left and the toweling had been placed.

After the door closed behind Matilda, Gabriella sighed, thinking that if she were a proper scion of society and breeding she would refuse the bath with indignation. The only failing with this was that she adored comforts too well and longed for the hot and soothing consolation of a bath. After that? Well, she would not dwell on that at this moment. After stripping her chemise, garters, and stockings off, she sank into the tub of hot water gratefully. She washed her hair and body vigorously, feeling as if she were washing away mounds of dirt, which could not be. It was the humiliation that she was trying to wash away, the humiliation of having her cruel and heartless husband abandon her in such a horrible and degrading fashion. No, he threw her aside as if so much trash to be discarded, completely ruining her.

"Oh," she whimpered on a tearful note into the humid steam swirling around her, then she fought her tears. She would not succumb again, she would not! No, from this exact moment forward, she would take one moment at a time.

"Yes," she breathed, what was it that they called it? "Carpe diem," she whispered. She would live to survive each moment to the next.

"An excellent philosophy, madame."

Gabriella yelped in shock and surprise. It was Drummond, tall and masculinely fluid in buff gray trousers and a sapphire blue hunting jacket, invading the intimacy of her bath. Why even her husband Reginald, had never seen her so . . .

"One which, I believe shall define our relationship," Drummond finished.

Gabriella clasped her hands over her breasts, bringing her knees upward to her chin. The water was soapy . . . yet? "Drummond," she gasped stupidly through her embarrassment. He was so bold and quite utterly handsome.

"Come, madame," he said imperiously, bending forward slightly to hold his hand outstretched to her. "It is time to seize this moment."

"You cannot mean for me to-to . . . just?" she sputtered.

"Ah, but I can, madame, and I do. I believe that I explained that quite thoroughly in my study earlier this day." His gray eyes were rich with intelligence and resolute command. "Come, madame, take my hand and step from the bath so I may dry you."

Gabriella understood that she had no choice, just as she knew that she was flushing pink when she reached her hand forward and Drummond clasped it. Oh too soon, she was rising upward, completely nude, from the spilling warm water, while Drummond's gaze slowed, and then very thoroughly roamed over every inch of her naked flesh.

"Step out and turn around, madame, so I may view your exquisite endowments from behind," he murmured with his voice sounding husky to her ears.

Exquisite
, Gabriella wondered, as she stepped from the tub and hesitantly turned her back to him, while water dripped down her skin, feeling extremely sensitive. It felt somehow heady to be viewed, dripping wet and naked by a fully clothed man; a man who seemed to admire the way she looked. This confused her because Reginald had never liked . . .

"Hmm, your pink bottom has a dimple. Absolutely perfect, and your legs are trim and shapely."

A dimple,
Gabriella wondered . . .
perfect . . . shapely?

Drummond still held her hand and was using it to turn her fully around to face him again. "And your breasts, madame, how glorious. I have a deep desire to touch them. Nibble my teeth on those rosebud tips." His gaze was smoldering, charcoal embers. "Shall you allow me?"

Gabriella hung hopelessly on the sensation of his words. Nibbling her breasts? Then his last words registered. He would let her choose?

"I want to, madame. I want to touch your breasts . . . to pet them. But, I will not, unless you ask it of me."

She parted her lips, but no sound came forth, before he said, "Ah, but I have a gift for you. A perfect setting, I believe."

"A gift," she whispered, trying to find any strength in her voice.

"First let me dry this white velvet skin of yours, then I shall give you my gifts . . . two of them, I have, madame. Do you fancy presents?"

White velvet skin, why I never?
"I l-love presents," she blurted, feeling instantly embarrassed as the admission just spilled out of her.

"I thought so," Drummond murmured as he began to apply a fluffy white linen to her back, bottom, and legs. And she let him! "Turn around again for me, madame," he ordered quietly.

Drummond was so close that Gabriella could feel the heat of his body, nearly feel the brush of his hunting jacket, as she turned. She found herself gazing at the small ruby stud that he wore in his left earlobe. Such a masculine ear, she thought a bit off kilter, and the crimson ruby was unusual, but quite attractive. Then, his downy linen found her loins and her legs parted with a melting new appreciation, as he chuckled low and arresting.

"Not yet, madame. Perhaps for dessert this evening."

Her gaze flew to his, but there was no disdain or mockery, just appreciation, heady masculine appreciation.

"I shall leave the drying of your plump beautiful breasts to you, madame. I did promise," he murmured, gazing deeply into her eyes for long moments before he handed her the towel and stepped away. The whole while Gabriella heard the words, plump and beautiful, fluttering through her mind, so much so that she dared to peek downward. A lady never really looked upon her naked self, but...

D
rummond savored the view of exquisite feminine nudity that Gabriella presented to him as he sat in a padded wing chair musing that he was unable to cross his legs comfortably for the willful hardening of his cock. He brushed his lower lip with his fingertips, fighting the impetuous urge to take the damn thing out and stroke it. Judas, he normally applied more control than this, yet he had never quite been in this situation before. The lady of his youthful dreams was standing naked in his home, well except for the linen she clutched, which he would rid her of shortly. Still, she was standing here, elegant and beautiful, more so in her maturity than he could have imagined, with her ripe curving figure just begging to fill his hands.

Hmm,
and she was his. All his or she would be once he finally set his mind to the task. The seduction of her, he had perfected in odd fantasies throughout the years, so it came easily to his mind. The securing of her, to him legally, would take much more ingenuity and he would only finalize whatever plan he conjured when he was completely certain that Gabriella would bed him and love him with abandon. He had suffered one lifelong commitment to a passion-afraid woman and he would not do so again. However, with Gabriella, even in this short time together, made him feel that he was nearly certain that she was . . . Or was that just his heart?

"Drummond it appears to me, um . . . or do you perchance, carry a tendre for me? From our youth together or-or ..." she asked with her voice faltering away.

Drummond felt guilty, caught for the barest of moments, and he understood that it was much too soon to hope for this in himself or her for that matter. No, he had to disabuse her of this notion, keeping her off balance, but she looked so precious standing there.

"I have a fine appreciation for beautiful women, Lady St. John, at the present it is nothing more than that, I assure you." Drummond watched Gabriella's coral-shaded lips form a tantalizing moue of disappointment. He could only consider that any woman would wish their first love to be falling upon their feet in middle age. Ah well, perhaps someday, he mused, they certainly were pink-toed treasures. What was that the gentlemen, Archangels were saying, "Make the woman your mistress?" He would have to keep that in mind, he considered as he offered his hand to Gabriella.