Tempting a Proper Lady (23 page)

“I'll see you tomorrow.” The roughness in his voice told her he was as aroused as she was. Before she could respond, he left the alcove, heading with unerring accuracy toward the east gate.

Leaving her with a new appreciation for a man who knew where he was going and how to get there.

S
aturday passed into Sunday. Cilla was waiting when John Ready arrived at two o'clock to fetch her.

The cottage was as she remembered it. She walked in the door and shut it behind her, then turned to find Samuel coming down the hallway. He wore only his trousers and shirt, and the shirt was unfastened. Her mouth watered as she feasted her eyes on his sun-darkened throat and the hint of hair peeking from where the shirt gaped open. He stopped as he saw her.

They looked at each other for long moments across the common room. Finally she unbuttoned her gloves at the wrists. “Good afternoon, Samuel.”

“Priscilla.” The rough purr of his voice made her fumble as she moved to tug off her gloves one finger at a time. She paused to regain her composure.

“Do you need help with that?”

She jerked her gaze over to him. He leaned in the doorway between the hallway and the common room, arms folded as he watched her remove her gloves.
She had seen a cat once watch a mouse in the same way—right before it pounced.

“No, thank you.” She stripped off one glove, noting how his gaze followed the movement as if bewitched. Heat flared through her along with a hint of power. The heady feeling awakened her wicked, playful side, a teasing creature who reveled in his attention. She tossed the glove on the table, then started on the other one with a mischievous smile.

“Playing with fire, are you?” he asked, his lips curving.

“I suppose that depends on how hot you are feeling.” She stripped off the other glove and tossed it onto the table before reaching for her bonnet.

“Pretty damned hot.” He swept his hungry gaze over her. “I've been thinking about this all day. All yesterday, too. Since the moment you were last here, come to think of it.”

She paused in setting her bonnet on the table. “You were?”

“Oh, yeah.”

“What exactly were you thinking?”

“About you. About us. About your next lesson.”

“And what is today's lesson?”

“I think you're working on one of your own.” He shrugged away from the doorway and came toward her. “A man likes to watch a woman undress for him.”

“Oh?” Her belly clenched with hunger as he pulled out a chair from the table and sat down.

“Sure. Since you started already, I figure I'll sit and watch the show.”

She bit her lower lip, suddenly worried she might have gone too far. “So you want me to continue?”

“Absolutely.”

She hesitated. Should she take her pins from her hair? But then it would be that much more difficult to unfasten her dress. Perhaps her shoes. This reminded her of how much he'd seemed to like watching her take off her stockings. She pulled out another chair, but rather than sitting on it, she braced her foot on the seat.

He shifted in his chair, his dark eyes alight with interest.

She tugged up her skirts so her entire stocking-encased lower limb was exposed. Then she bent to work on her shoe. She discarded the first one and glanced up to find him watching her with an intensity that made warmth bloom between her legs. With a little smile, she switched legs and bent to her second shoe.

The scrape of his chair across the floor made her look up just as he reached her.

“I can't wait,” he said, then plundered her mouth like a drowning man exposed to air. Her body flared to life, and she clung to him, all rational thought sizzling away like drops of water thrown on a griddle.

Long moments later he ripped his mouth from hers. “I wanted to teach you something new, but right now I just have to have you.”

“Yes,” she murmured.

“I know I should be more patient—”

She laid her fingers across his lips, silencing him.
“Take me to bed, Samuel. I want you until I feel like I will die from it.”

He scooped her up in his arms and carried her down the hallway to the bedroom.

 

“Why don't you believe you're capable of love?” Cilla lay in bed with Samuel sprawled halfway on top of her. An hour or more had passed since he had carried her off, and her body still sang with passion. Her lips curved as he drew lazy circles on her breast with his fingers.

“I'm just not built that way.” His voice sounded muffled because he had buried his face against her neck.

“I have trouble believing you've never loved
anyone
, Samuel.”

“The notion that someone can love someone else more than themselves? Nonsense. Survival instinct always takes over.”

“You don't really believe that, do you?”

“Yes.”

“We're all born believing in love.” She caught his head in her hands as he began to drop nibbling kisses along her throat and made him look at her. “What changed you, Samuel? Did a woman break your heart?”

“Why do you females always think that?”

“Because there must be some explanation. Your attitude goes against what most normal men believe.”

“Then I am an original thinker.” He curved his fingers around her breast, rubbing his thumb across the nipple. “Guess what I'm thinking now?”

“What was her name?”

“Blast it, woman!” He sat up and gave her an exasperated look. “Before Annabelle, the only woman in my life was my mother. No desperate, secret loves in my past. Are you satisfied?”

His mother. His
unwed
mother who had died when he was fifteen. The defensiveness in his tone made her realize she had touched a wound. What had his mother been forced to do to survive on her own with a young son? Her heart broke as she imagined how harsh reality must have destroyed the illusions of a young boy.

His guarded expression warned her to leave well enough alone for now. Instead she stretched her arms above her head, arching her body toward him. “Satisfied? Not quite.”

“Demanding wench.” He lay back down beside her and palmed her breast again. “Is your plan to exhaust me?”

She flushed. “I am sorry. It's just…this is so delicious. I want to take as much as you are willing to give me. I am not ready for our time together to end.”

“Is that so?” He tongued her nipple, the wet, raspy flesh sending quivers along her nerve endings. “I'm not exactly finished with you, either. There is too much to explore. Too much to teach you.”

He clamped his mouth around her straining nipple and sucked, and she arched her back, her breath sighing from her lips. “There is more?”

A grumbling noise of assent reached her ears but she did not care anymore. Just as her brain melted
into simmering porridge, he slowly drew back, her damp flesh sliding from his warm mouth. The cool air made her nipple contract, and he gave it one last lick before resting his forehead against hers. “Ready for another lesson?”

The hungry gleam in his eyes both excited and scared her and nearly made her say no, but she found herself nodding anyway.

“Good. Turn over.” He whipped the pillow from beneath her head as she rolled onto her stomach, then tucked it under her belly so her hips arched up. “If I'm doing something you don't like, yell ‘bowsprit.'”

“Bowsprit? That is a strange word.”

“But it's not something you might yell in the heat of passion. If you yell ‘bowsprit,' it means you had to think about it.” He got on his knees behind her, taking her hips in his hands. “You ready?”

“What is a bowsprit?”

“It's a spar that sticks out from the stem of a ship.”

“What's a spar?”

He leaned down so his mouth was near her ear. “It's a long pole that holds the rigging.” He nudged the head of his sex against her female folds as if to illustrate, then slipped inside her.

She let out a cry of surprise at the depth of his thrust.

He stopped. “You all right?”

She nodded, unable to speak from the sensations thundering through her. His hands caressing her hips. Her sensitive nipples rubbing against the bedding.
His cock so deep inside her. The way he surrounded her on all sides, covering her, his warm belly against her bottom.

“You want to say ‘bowsprit'?” he asked.

She shook her head no. Vehemently.

He chuckled. “Then hold fast, Priscilla. We're in for a wild ride.”

 

The Mertletons' dinner party was just a small affair—only forty guests—and even Cilla was invited since the Mertletons were good friends of her parents. As she entered the room behind the Baileys and Lord Raventhorpe, she looked forward to seeing her mother but hoped there would be no matchmaking on Mama's part this evening.

She saw him as soon as she stepped into the room.

Samuel stood with her parents and Genny as the guests lingered in the drawing room waiting for dinner to be announced. Raventhorpe and Annabelle strolled across the room ostensibly to greet friends, but veered so close to where Samuel stood that Cilla was certain it had been a deliberate move on Raventhorpe's part. Clearly the earl was gloating. Samuel, to his credit, barely looked at them.

“Why, Cilla, there are your parents,” Dolly said, obviously having followed her daughter's path.

“Lady Mertleton and my mother are quite close friends,” Cilla said. “I was hoping they had been invited.”

“And there is Samuel talking to them.”

“He is acquainted with my father.”

“I hope he intends to behave himself,” Dolly murmured.

“I expect that he will. Your husband has given him a second chance, and he is not a man to take such a thing lightly.”

“True.” Dolly slanted her a glance. “You have come to know him well.”

Cilla concealed the flare of nerves. “When it looked as if he was going to disrupt the wedding, I made it my business to find out everything I could about him.”

Dolly's brow cleared. “You are so efficient!”

“I try to be.”

“Excuse me. Mrs. Burke?”

Cilla turned to see who had addressed her, and her heart sank as she recognized the earnest young naval lieutenant who had appeared at her elbow. “Oh, good evening, Lieutenant. Mrs. Bailey, you remember Lieutenant Allerton.”

“I sure do. Good evening, Lieutenant,” Dolly said with a dimpled smile.

“Mrs. Bailey.” The lieutenant sketched a bow, then looked at Cilla. “We are partnered for dinner, Mrs. Burke.”

“How lovely.” Cilla glanced at her mother and found that lady smiling at her. She let her exasperation show for just a moment so her mother would get the message, then turned back to her assigned escort.

“Excuse me while I greet our hostess,” Dolly said, then walked away.

“Lieutenant,” Cilla said, “I see my mother across the room. Please excuse me while I go to speak her.”

“Allow me to escort you.” The lieutenant crooked his elbow.

Left with no other recourse, she took his arm and allowed him to lead her over to where her family stood talking. Her father saw her first, but rather than stiffening with rejection as he had done in the past, he greeted her with a welcome smile.

“Good evening, Cilla! And to you, too, Lieutenant.”

“Admiral.” The two men shook hands.

“You know my wife and daughter,” the admiral said to Allerton.

“Indeed, I do. A pleasure to see you, Mrs. Wallington-Willis. And you, Miss Wallington-Willis.”

“And this is Captain Samuel Breedlove.”

“Captain?” Allerton extended a hand. “Military?”

“No,” Samuel said. He shook the man's hand in one short movement, then withdrew. “I was the captain of a ship, though not any longer.” He glanced at Cilla. “Good evening, Mrs. Burke.”

She nodded. “Captain.”

Allerton cast her a quick questioning look. “You are acquainted with Captain Breedlove?”

“Through the Baileys.”

“The captain is here as our guest this evening,” Cilla's mother said. “He was gallant enough to offer to escort Genny.”

Cilla shot a frown at her sister and was greeted with a smug smile.

“Papa and the captain have struck up a marvelous friendship,” Genny said.

“I think a sea captain is a perfect match for my daughter.” The admiral chuckled.

“Robert, you are going to embarrass the captain!” Cilla's mother said.

“Nonsense.”

Cilla couldn't help but glance at Samuel. He was listening to something Genny was telling him. He glanced up and caught her eye just as they were summoned to dinner, and the brief, intense stare seared her in places she dared not mention. Lieutenant Allerton offered his arm. She went with her escort, her emotions a hard, tight knot in her chest.

 

He didn't like that Allerton fellow putting his hands on Cilla. Not in the slightest.

All through dinner he was aware of young Genny Wallington-Willis chattering on about social acquaintances he did not know, but while he managed to make the appropriate responses, he focused his attention farther down the table to where Cilla conversed with the naval man.

He had never considered himself a jealous man. Even his actions regarding Annabelle and Raventhorpe, who sat close to their hostess, had not been generated by jealousy so much as a need to set things right. But when it came to Cilla Burke, everything he had come to know about himself in the past no longer applied. He wanted to shove the lieutenant away from her and then drag her off somewhere where they could be alone.

Sex. That's what it was. That's what it
had
to be. There was some kind of unique sexual attraction between himself and Cilla that he had never felt before. Perhaps it was a male sense of possession. He had never been a man to share his women, which was one of the reasons he never patronized whores. When he took a lover, it was an exclusive relationship until one of them walked away.

Seeing Annabelle on Raventhorpe's arm bothered him, but in a less intimate, more something-in-the-world-is-awry kind of way. Like a loose knot in the ropes that needed tightening or a meal of soup that did not include a spoon. Seeing Cilla being fawned over by the uniformed lieutenant struck him in a completely different way. More intense. More urgent. More a ship-is-on-fire-and-the-gunpowder-is-going-to-blow kind of way.