Never a Mistress, No Longer a Maid (3 page)

So she tentatively placed her hand on his bare chest and
began to explore.

Ned continued to lose himself more and more.  He unbuttoned
her shirt, then brushed his thumb over her pebbled nipple.  As she let out a
gasp, he rolled it between his fingers.  Her hand on him was driving him wild. 
She seemed fascinated with the feel of his bare chest.  She moved her hand over
his nipples, then down toward the fastenings to his breeches. But just as she
got close enough to touch his bulging cock, she moved her hand back up his
body.   Vixen. 

This would truly be a night to remember.

He moved his lips down her neck and across her collar bone. 
As he pulled off her shirt, he kissed his way down her chest to the top of her
straining breasts.   He found her nipple and suckled.

Jane arched several inches off the ground.  A scream came
from somewhere in the vicinity of her throat.  Never in her life had she felt
such extreme pleasure.  She knew she should stop him, because the three minutes
were clearly up and no good could come of such wickedness, but how could she
stop him when she’d lost the ability to speak?

Plus, the feel of his bare chest filled her with warmth from
her too tight breasts all the way to her toes, with special emphasis between
her legs.  She knew a proper lady shouldn’t touch a man in this way, but she
needed this experience for scientific reasons.

She suddenly felt cold air on her legs and realized he’d unbuttoned
her breeches and was pulling them down her legs.  She felt his fingers brush
lightly against her curls, while he suckled her nipple.  She moaned and bucked.

“Easy, sweetheart,” said Ned with a chuckle.  He’d never before
touched a woman who was so responsive.  And he’d never responded to a woman the
way he did to Iris.  His cock was rock hard.  If she moaned again, lovemaking
would come to a tragic, premature end.

As he touched her, her legs fell open.  Her eyes were closed
and her head was rolling back and forth.  She reached for his breeches, and he
held his breath.  He slid one finger into her incredibly tight sheath just as
she rubbed his cock.  He almost exploded.

He reluctantly withdrew his finger from inside her, and was
met with a moan of displeasure.  His lovely widow had been too long without a
man.

He pulled off her breeches and boots and the view which met
his eyes was breathtaking.  Firm, rounded breasts.  A taut stomach and legs
that went on for miles.  The curls between her legs glistened from the moisture
he’d felt there.  She was wet and ready for him.

Jane had never been naked in front of a man before.  She
should be shy.  She should cover herself immediately.  But the heat of his gaze
made her only want to go further.

Because of her vocation, she would never marry.  And tonight
she wanted to experience the act of lovemaking with this man.   She knew it was
an irrevocable decision, but this was what she wanted.  What she needed.

“You,” she said with dry lips. “You still have clothes on.”

He smiled at her, then stood and slowly removed his boots
and breeches.

Jane was stunned.  As she’d tended to him during the past
several hours, she’d had a glimpse of a bulge, but it was nothing like this. 
This was magnificent.  Huge and almost certainly too big for her.  All of the
sudden she was terribly unsure of what she was doing.  Iris the widow was about
to be exposed as Jane the virgin.

But then he lay on top of her again, took her face between
his hands and began to kiss her.  Gently at first, but then he deepened the
kiss, stoked the fires.  He spread her legs and placed himself between them. 
He stroked her curls.  He inserted a finger inside her, while his thumb rubbed
against her hooded button.  Slowly, he increased his movements, as she grew
hotter and hotter.  She wanted something, but didn’t know quite what. 

Just as she thought she could stand it no longer, he
withdrew his hand.  When she protested, he kissed her, then pressed his cock
against her and slowly pressed in.

All at once, the reality of what she was doing hit Jane full
force.  The pressure of his very hard, very large cock was uncomfortable.  Very
uncomfortable.  She’d heard the first time was painful.  No one told her there
was a possibility she’d be cleaved in two, but that’s what this felt like.

*                    *                   *

She must’ve been widowed for quite some time, thought Ned as
he pressed into the tight channel.  He pressed a bit further in and was
thankful he’d had the foresight to go slowly.  She was tight to an
unprecedented degree.  Just how small had this innkeeper husband of hers been?

Then he got his answer, as he butted up against her
maidenhead.  Stunned, he looked down into eyes widened with fright.

“You’re a virgin!”

“No, I’m not,” she said with a grimace.  And even though she
was in a considerable amount of pain, she didn’t want to stop.  This could be
her only chance to see what the fuss was about.  Fuss she currently felt was
considerably overrated.

“Madam, this is not the time for debate.  I have found
irrefutable evidence that you are.”  Damn!  This was not the ending he wanted
for the night.  But he slowly began to withdraw.

“Wait!”

He stopped, hoping for a reprieve.

“Please.  I want you to do this.”

“You’re a virgin.”

She bit her lower lip.  He grew harder.

“I know I don’t know what I’m doing, but if you could only
explain things, I’m sure I could make this enjoyable for you,” she said

Ned would’ve laughed, if he could have.

“Trust me when I say my enjoyment is not in question.  But
there are certain rules I live by.”      

“Please.”

“It’s not open to debate.”

He began to withdraw again.  Jane wrapped her legs around
him, then pulled him toward her, while lifting her pelvis.

That did it.  He couldn’t hold back. 

Ned thrust deeply into her and Jane felt a searing pain.  He
halted when she winced.

Jane wasn’t sure what was happening to him, because he
wasn’t moving and his jaw was clenched so hard she thought it might break.  She
looked up at him.

“Are you all right?” she asked.

Was he all right?  His rigid cock was sheathed in a velvet
fist.  If he moved, he was afraid he’d hurt her – he’d felt her flinch when he
entered her fully, thanks to those incredibly long and strong legs wrapped
around him.  If he moved, he was afraid it’d be over all too soon.  If he even
thought about the incredible woman beneath him, he was afraid he wouldn’t last. 
So he waited for her to relax and for himself to regain some control.

He moved his hand between them and began to stoke the nub of
her flesh.  Instantly, she reacted to his touch. 

“Look at me,” he said, realizing he’d never said that to
another woman in this position.  He was a generous lover, but never one to
become emotionally involved.  But for some reason he needed to see her when she
came.  And she was going to come.  He’d make sure of it.

He began to slowly move in and out.  After a moment, she
caught the rhythm and moved with him.  She was so tight, he knew he couldn’t
last long.  She was nearing the edge.  He hoped he could take her over.  She
looked up at him then said “Edward!” as she climaxed. 

Her contractions brought on his.  She milked his cock dry.  His
climax was long, intense and one of the most powerful he’d ever experienced.

*                    *                  *

Jane couldn’t believe what she’d just done.  She couldn’t
believe there were physical sensations and emotions like she’d just
experienced.  She stopped herself.  There were no emotions in what had just
occurred.  It had simply been a physiological response to stimuli.

But what a response.

He pulled out and was silent for so long, Jane thought he’d
fallen asleep.

“You lied to me,” came Edward’s cold voice, eventually. 
“You’re not a widow.”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“It has bloody everything to do with it. I don’t deflower
virgins.”

“Don’t use foul language.  And you made your views perfectly
clear just before the…deflowering.”

“You were the one doing the deflowering, with those blasted
long legs of yours wrapped around me.”

“You’re saying I overpowered you?”

“Yes!  No!  I’m saying it was too much for one man to
resist.  You’re too much for one man to resist.”

Jane was absurdly pleased with the compliment, even if it
was given in the midst of a tirade.  “I can’t see how it makes one bit of
difference now that it’s done.”

“You do realize this changes everything, don’t you?” he
said.

Oh, dear, thought Jane.  He was going to propose.  This
would throw her whole life in disarray. There would be no chance of becoming a
surgeon.  No chance of becoming anything but a wife.  Of course, if what she’d
just experienced was any indication, being Edward’s wife would come with some
advantages, but she couldn’t give up her hopes and dreams this easily.  At
least not without talking about it.

“You’ll become my mistress, of course.”

It took Jane a moment to comprehend what he’d just said.

“You want me to be your mistress?”

“Very much.  I know you don’t have anything to compare it
to, but what we just experienced doesn’t happen all that often.  To be frank,
it’s never happened to me – not like that.  You’re a natural at this.  And once
you learn a bit more, I can only imagine the bliss we’ll find.  As long as you
remember who’s the man and who’s the woman.”

It wasn’t often that Jane found herself without words.  What
she really lacked was a large rock to cosh him with.  He’d offered to make her
his mistress.  Her.  Lady Jane Wetherby, granddaughter of an earl.  Of course,
he didn’t know that , but it was insulting all the same.

“You can be quite assured, Lord Edward, that I will always
retain the knowledge of who’s the man in our relationship.  Especially when he
made me a most indecent proposal.  You can be even more assured, that while I
do appreciate your having shown me the act of physical love, I will never ask
for another interlude.  And if I should require tutoring, I’ll be more than
happy to find someone else.”

Ned saw red at the very idea of Iris getting lessons from
anyone else.  She was his.  At least in the manner of master and mistress.  And
she would come around.  He’d bet his life on it.

“Very well, madam.  I suggest we get some sleep, so we can
find our way out of the forest tomorrow and back to civilization.  Rest assured
I will neither molest you further tonight, nor repeat my ‘indecent proposal,’
as you deemed it.”

“Good,” she said with more vehemence than she felt.

“Excellent,” he said with much more bravado than he felt.

They both lay down, inches from each other.  And neither
slept a wink.

*                    *                  *

The next day, a long silent journey returned them to
Brussels.  After a strictly proper bow and curtsy, each left the other.  Ned
found his commanding officer and gave his report.  Jane returned to her nursing
station, where a letter awaited demanding that she return home.  It was
accompanied by one of her grandfather’s footmen to ensure she complied.  He was
travelling incognito to avoid bringing further shame to the family.

So, the next day, when Ned returned to town, seeking out
Iris with apology, flowers and marriage proposal at the ready – he had, after
all, taken her maidenhead and fictional innkeeper’s widow or not, some things
just weren’t done when one was a gentleman – he found no sign of the woman who
had so thoroughly bewitched him.

He should’ve felt relief.  He was much too young to get
leg-shackled and his brother, the Duke of Lynwood, would be furious.  But
somehow, the emotion pouring through him as he questioned Iris’s colleagues who
knew nothing more than that she’d gone off with “some bloke,” wasn’t relief. 
Or elation.  Or even a mild curiosity as to how she could’ve just walked away
without looking back.

The emotion wasn’t any of those.  But he didn’t care to
examine it too closely to see what exactly it was.

CHAPTER ONE

Marston Vale, Bedfordshire, April 1822

 “Just a little more, Sue.  I know you’re tired, but you’re
almost there.”

Jane Wetherby wiped the sweat from Sue Birch’s forehead.  It
was an unusually warm spring day and the poor woman had been laboring for
almost twelve hours.

“What’s happenin’, Miss Jane?  I canna stand to be out here
when my poor Sue is suffering so.”  Joseph Birch, blacksmith and first-time
father, stood just outside the bedroom door in their small cottage.

Sue and Jane exchanged a look.  “Don’t let him come back in
here,” said Sue.  “It’s hard enough bringin’ a babe into the world without havin’
a bigger one standing by me side worryin’.”

“He worries because he loves you.”

“I know,” said Sue with a sweet smile.  “I couldn’t have
made it through this day without him out there worrying.  And you by my side
helping.  Ohhh!”

Sue was hit with another contraction and Jane took her position. 
“Oh, Sue, I can see the babe’s head!”

“What?!?” boomed the voice from outside the door.

“Not now!” said his wife.

“One more push.  That’s it, that’s it.  Oh my,” said Jane as
she gently pulled the babe from its mother.  “You have a boy.  A beautiful
boy!”

“A boy!”  There was a crash as the door swung open and hit
the wall, then a beaming Joseph entered the room.  “Susie, you gave me a son!” 

He ran to his wife and hugged her.  Then he took one look at
the newborn, as well as the state of the linens and began to sway.

“Sit down, Joseph,” commanded Jane with a smile.  “I can
only tend to one patient at a time.  And right now, it’s your son.”

“My son,” said Joseph as he sank onto a stool.  “My son.”

Jane finished wiping off the baby, then handed him to his
parents. 

An hour later, an exhausted Jane walked toward Wetherby
Farm, her home.  Her father had purchased the home when he’d married her
mother.  Jane had inherited it upon their death and while she owned it free and
clear, the once comfortable farmhouse now needed extensive repairs.  The roof
leaked, shutters flew off with even the mildest wind and since she was unable
to afford much coal, it tended to be quite cold in winter.  Nevertheless, Jane
loved the old house because it reminded her of her parents.

Some of the villagers were kind enough to do repairs in
exchange for the medical care she provided, but she had little money to buy
supplies for the bigger jobs like the roof.  Her inheritance was wrapped up in
a trust administered by her grandfather’s solicitors.  Since her relationship
with the earl was strained at best, he continued to cut back on her allowance
despite the fact she was six and twenty, and should’ve had full use of the
funds.  No amount of pleading had swayed him and she couldn’t afford to hire a
solicitor to see to her interests.  She barely had enough funds to keep her
housekeeper and butler, Mr. and Mrs. Heldt, and Farrell, her groom.  The three
had been with her family since before Jane was born, but she couldn’t very well
ask them to continue on unpaid.

As the only affordable source of medical care, Jane was
called on by the poorer residents of Marston Vale on an almost daily basis. 
Everyone tried to pay her what they could, but it was rarely in currency.  She
was more likely to carry home eggs or butter than shillings.   When a tenant
farmer who was having a particularly bad year had tried to give her his one
remaining chicken, she insisted instead that she be paid in song from his three
children.  Even though the incident had been four years ago, the children still
serenaded her when she saw them. 

Today, the blacksmith had a baby, a beautiful son.  Which
was great news for the Birch family and excellent news for the two horses Jane
still had in her stable.  They’d get new shoes next week.

She smiled as she thought about the new babe being held by
his proud parents.  Then a lump came into her throat as she recalled the love
in Joseph’s eyes as he looked at his beloved Sue.  It was a look Jane longed to
receive from a man, but one she knew she’d never get.

But before she could become too maudlin, a blonde sprite ran
into her at a six-year-old’s top speed, wrapping her arms tightly around her
waist.  Jane returned the squeeze.

“Mama!  I lost a tooth!  See!”

Jane bent down to look at the gap in her smile.

“You did!  You’re such a brave girl.”

“I was!  I didn’t cry at all.  I was surprised a little. 
But I didn’t cry.  Do you want to see it?” 

Violet, with blonde hair and emerald green eyes, carefully
pulled a handkerchief out of her pocket.  She unwrapped it, then presented her
mother with a small, slightly bloody tooth.  Jane picked it up.

“I believe you deserve a special treat for being such a
brave little girl.”

“Mrs. Heldt is making me a tart!”

“That’s very kind of Mrs. Heldt.  I hope you can eat it with
one fewer tooth.”

The fact that she might be missing tart-eating capabilities
hadn’t yet dawned on Vi.  Her eyes grew wide at the very thought.

Jane looked at her daughter’s emerald eyes.  Eyes that
brought back so many memories.

“I’m only teasing.  I’m sure you shall be quite capable of
eating anything Mrs. Heldt cooks.”

“Let’s go see her!  Perhaps it’s ready!” 

And with that, Vi grabbed her mother’s hand and the two of
them ran toward the rundown house and the apple tarts which would be there for
both of them.

London

Ned Kellington’s head hurt.  It certainly wasn’t the worst
headache he’d ever had.  He had surprisingly fond memories of that headache. 
However, it was irritating enough that all he wanted to do was return home and
go to bed.  But since the night was still young, a good three hours before dawn,
he knew neither of his companions would permit him to attend to his wishes.

During the six months since returning home from his last
mission for the Foreign Office, it had become somewhat of a routine.  He and
his two younger brothers, Arthur and Hal, would dine at one of their clubs,
catch up on the latest gossip, then attend whichever ball was considered
necessary to stave off a visit from their Aunt Agatha who meant to see them all
married as soon as possible.  Then they’d head out in search of more satisfying
entertainment some time after midnight.

At nine and twenty, Ned was two years older than Arthur and
four years older than Hal.    They’d always been close as boys, but hadn’t seen
much of each other in the years since Ned had finished university and gone off
on his great adventure.  First the war, then missions for the Foreign Office. 
They always joked that, given his historical namesake, it should’ve been Arthur
who’d gone off on a quest.  But it was Ned who’d left home and only seldom
ventured back.    

It wasn’t that he hadn’t missed his brothers and sister.  He
had.  But he’d wanted more from life than settling into his very comfortable
existence as the slightly younger brother to the Duke of Lynwood.  He was
afraid that if he’d settled into that post, he never would’ve roused himself
from it.  And before he knew it, he’d be sixty years old and soft around the
middle with a wife someone else had found for him and grandchildren who
pestered him constantly.  Actually, the grandchildren might not be too bad. 
But an arranged marriage – he cringed at the very thought.

Now he was back in London, retired from service and getting
to know his brothers as men.  Men who took full advantage of the entertainments
London offered.

But, truthfully, the appeal of late nights had begun to
pall.  Ned had even begged off from his brothers one night last week claiming
illness, then stayed home to read a book.   He’d had to be careful to hide his
perfidy since they all lived at Lynwood House, but his valet and former batman
Rigg had once again had his back, even if the man had thought the behavior
queer indeed.

“What say you, Madame L’Amour’s or that new gaming hell?”
asked Arthur. 

It had been the whimsy of their late parents to name their
children after four Kings of England, and one Queen.  Arthur was the tallest of
the Kellington brothers, a fact that seemed to bother the duke just the
slightest bit, which meant Arthur took every opportunity to point it out.  His
hair was the fairest of all of them, much closer to their sire’s light brown
than to their mother’s raven locks.  His build – like all of the Kellington
brothers’ – was lean muscle distributed across broad shoulders, a well-developed
chest, a rippled stomach, narrow hips and strong thighs.

Experienced women of the
ton
compared the Kellington
brothers to each other in great detail – and found none of them wanting.

Henry, known to everyone as Hal, had a love of women
reminiscent of Henry VIII, even if their parents had the bravery of Henry V in
mind when they named him.   Hal was always quick with a smile and a joke, which
meant he could charm wives and avoid castration from their husbands almost
equally well.  He wore his chestnut hair to his shoulders, pulled back in a
queue.

Their sister Elizabeth was the baby of the family at one and
twenty, but, like her namesake, could hold her own with the men of her family. 
With curly black hair, she was the only other member of the family to have Ned’s
emerald eyes.  Since her come-out, she’d been pursued by every eligible man
between 18 and 80, and had, up to this point, accumulated a dozen proposals of
marriage, all of which she’d politely turned down. 

She also would’ve been the recipient of countless indecent
proposals if the rogues in town didn’t live in fear of her brothers, both
physically and socially.  One raised eyebrow from the Duke of Lynwood could
freeze someone out for the rest of the season.  And the man was also good with
his fives.

William, Duke of Lynwood.  Named for the Conqueror, and
known as Liam to a select few.  At two and thirty, he was an enigma to many.  A
wealthy duke, one of the best prizes on the marriage mart, Liam spent most of
his time at Lynwood in the country, only returning to London for Parliament and
to do his duties as Elizabeth’s eldest brother.  He was more rugged looking
than the rest of them.  His nose had been broken more than once during his wild
years at Cambridge.  But when duty called after the death of their parents,
Liam put the past behind him and calmly took up the reins.  If his current
quiet life didn’t exactly jibe with his wild youth, no one dared to question
him about it.  Or if they did, they didn’t do it twice.

“What say you?” asked Arthur again.  “Gaming or whores?”

“We can’t do both?” asked Hal.

“How about neither?” said Ned, absently.

His brothers exchanged a look.

“What has come over you?” asked Arthur.

“I’d say you were dicked in the nob, if I weren’t afraid
people would think it’s hereditary.”   Hal became momentarily distracted as
Lord Fellowes and his current ladybird strolled by arm in arm.  “I don’t know
how he does it.  Fellowes can barely move with those stays wrapped around him
as if to hold in his entrails.  And yet, he catches some of the most beautiful
birds in Covent Garden.  What is it about the man?”

“Blunt.  Loads of it,” said Arthur as he, too, turned to
gawk at the female.

It was growing too much for Ned.  “Don’t you ever tire of the
same routine over and over again?”

“Now I do think you’re daft,” said Hal.  “Why not ask the
sun if it’s going to rise tomorrow or if it’s too bored to give it a go, having
done it so many times before.  Are you sure you didn’t get anything important
shot off on the continent?”

“I’m quite intact, thank you.”

“You should enjoy yourself while you can, Ned, since your
days of freedom are numbered,” added Arthur.  “Liam will be back any day now,
no doubt to tell you to formalize your understanding with the quite proper Miss
Merriman.”

“Are you really going to get leg-shackled to that twit?” 
Hal’s aversion to matrimony was well known.

“How do you know she’s a twit?” asked Ned.  “You barely know
her.”

“I know her well enough,” answered Hal.  “And if you ask me,
you can do better than a viscount’s daughter with no sense of humor and a
highly inflated view of herself.”

“Turned down your advances, did she, Hal?” asked Arthur.

“Flat.  And in front of a balcony full of witnesses, too. 
Bad form, if you ask me.”

Ned knew he should be bothered that his brother had made
advances toward the lady he was expected to marry.  But Hal made advances to
just about every woman.  Gray-haired matrons were said to have their spirits
lifted for months with just one wink from the man.  As for Miss Merriman, Ned
felt depressingly neutral toward the lady he’d met only half a dozen times, but
was expected to marry because of some agreement between their parents.

It was a most disagreeable thought.  While he could hardly
consider himself a romantic, he thought there should be more of a basis to
marriage than that.  He wanted a wife who’d obey him absolutely, but have
enough spirit to stand up for herself and those she loved.  He wanted a wife
who could fire his blood and make him look forward to the marriage bed.  A
blonde wouldn’t be bad.  With brown eyes and flecks of amber.  And the ability
to use up a bottle of good Scots whiskey without taking a sip.