What a Lady Craves (23 page)

“I don’t believe you.”

“And what cause would I have to lie? Surely you can’t expect me to acquiesce to … to everything you desire, simply because you’re a man and you say so.” Her bodice heaved on an in-taken breath, a goddamned distraction he did not need.

Not when she clearly wished to hold him at arm’s length. No, farther. An ocean might bloody well not suffice after all that had happened between them.

But something—perhaps her heightened color and parted lips—prodded at him to forge onward. “Acquiesce? Is that how your bluestocking female authors refer to it?”

“Of course not.” A line formed between her brows, the slightest flaw in her features. She’d always been beautiful to him, especially in such moments when they were alone and passion sparked between them. In the flickering candlelight, her face fairly glowed. “But then, if women are to remain uneducated, I suppose that’s all they might be good for. Breeding and taking care of children, when they might be so much more. Why, if society permitted them a few simple experiences in their youth as it allows men—”

He could barely believe what he was hearing. “When did you turn into such a radical?”

Her chin went up a notch. “Over the course of the past several years, reading has become a great comfort to me. Mrs. Wollstonecraft in particular. If we keep our women in ignorance, they don’t even know what sort of choices life might offer them.”

“Choices?” Unaccountable anger boiled in his veins. “What sort of choices does a young lady learn about when she experiences gaming hells and strong drink and—” He cut himself off before he mentioned brothels. He’d sampled all those things in his youth, which was why they immediately leapt to mind, but the thought of Henrietta … No, he couldn’t fathom it.

“And what?” Damn that smile. It had sprung from nowhere and was far too knowing. And what
had
she experienced in the years he’d been away?

“What do you think?”

“Oh, I might imagine all sorts of things—scandalous, naughty, wicked.” She held up successive fingers as if tallying off items on a list. “Things an unmarried woman is supposed to know nothing about.”

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

Somehow her face hovered closer. Too close. “That depends. Just what do you think I’m enjoying? And you haven’t answered the question.”

“This.” He seized her by the arms and hauled her body up against his. Her small breasts pressed against his chest; her lean hips formed a cradle for his rapidly growing erection. Despite the threat of a stinging slap, he covered her mouth with his.

With a sigh that was half a moan, she opened to him. God, how could he want her with so much ferocity after all these years? And yet, she was so familiar—her scent, her taste, her body—he felt as if he was finally home. At last. It was as if no other woman but her had ever existed.

No other woman should have. Henrietta was the only woman for him, and he’d long known it. He’d known it even as he’d spoken vows with another.

Henrietta’s tongue rose to twine with his. Her hands traced the lines of his shoulders. Her fingers crept into his hair. And she responded—with her full body, not her lips alone. He slid his palms down her spine, below her waist to her hips. He molded her sweet little rump beneath his touch and thrust against her.

“Ah!” She moaned into his mouth, and found a way to press even more tightly to him. She couldn’t be close enough. She’d never be close enough. Not even naked beneath him.

He tore his lips away, fighting for control. After everything he put her through, he couldn’t simply take her. She deserved no less than a proper courtship, something he was in no position to undertake.

She fisted a hand in his hair and pulled him back. Her lips slid past his mouth, across his cheek. The hot moist tip of her tongue touched his ear and slipped to the sliver of neck above his collar.

He held her by the hips and rubbed his aching cock against her belly. Not that the movement brought relief. Only further frustration and need. Too many clothes separated them. Too many feelings. Too many years.

“Are you enjoying this?” His voice came out of nowhere. Some part of him other than his brain had commanded him to speak, the tone rough and unfamiliar. Desperate.

“Yes.”

Christ, she would kill him. He must stop. He must. But not before he’d had another kiss from her. And another, and another.

He touched his lips to hers again, gently this time to ease her into a slower dance, to calm the fire that had erupted between them. Everything he asked, she gave and more. A sip, a taste, a
long, languid draught.

He slipped a hand between their bodies and covered her breast.

“Oh.” She arched her back into his touch. The tip hardened beneath his palm, and he ran his thumb over it. “Oh,
oh.
”

Before he could even think or make a conscious decision, he had the buttons of her simple dress undone. Chemise and stays lowered. And her bare breast rested in his hand, the nipple like a ripe raspberry. He slipped his arm lower, supporting her about the waist, as he bent her back and dipped his head for a taste.

“Sweet, sweet,” he mouthed around the bud. He’d always known she would be. Sweet and small and perfect.

Her hands pressed into his shoulders as she clung to him. Her breathing ragged, she arched against him.
More, more.
The plea was silent, but he heard it all the same. She was limp against him. Loose, lazy. He could have her so easily. Another taste, another plucking of that berry with his lips. Another nip with his teeth. Another soothing lick with his tongue.

“Henrietta,” he rasped. “Tell me what you want.”

Lord help him, he had to have it from her lips. Had to ensure her consent—but more, he wanted to hear her ask for it. Beg. Plead.

“You. I want you.” No more than a breathy whisper, but it was enough.

And then she shocked him. Her hand slipped between their bodies. The muscles in his chest jumped as she skimmed downward, but she didn’t stop at the waistband of his trousers. She dipped farther until she pressed her palm over the tented fabric at his falls. “I want this.”

She wanted this. God, oh, God. He couldn’t unbutton himself fast enough. As his cock sprang free, she reached for it, gripping hard, stroking his length. Up, down, her fingers curled about him. Her thumb brushed away the drop of liquid already purling at the tip. Christ, she was bold. He’d never expected it of the shy young lady she’d once been.

Her expression was anything but demure.
Eager
might be a good term.
Hungry
another. With her eyes, she avidly followed the movement of her hand. He had to lower his lids against the sight of her, bodice undone, lips parted, watching herself. Watching him. But he only felt what she was doing twice as hard. His bollocks pulled toward his body.

“Stop,” he panted. He circled her wrist with his fingers. “Stop before you unman me.”

“Oh?” Even her voice was tinged with longing.

“If you make me spill now, it will be over.” He caressed the soft skin on the inside of her wrist. “That’s the problem. Once a man finishes, he’s done. A woman, on the other hand …”

“A woman what?”

Good. He had the privilege of teaching her something about herself she didn’t already know. “A woman is never finished.”

A spark of hunger glittered in her eyes.
Flashed.
Oh, no, she didn’t know, but she was about to learn. “Never?”

He drew her against him, the perfect buds of her breasts to his chest, his forehead resting against hers. “Do you want me to show you?”

“Please.”

Probably the closest he’d ever get to making her beg. He closed the hairsbreadth of space that separated them, savoring her kiss now, savoring her eagerness and curiosity, taking it into himself. Between them, his cock throbbed in protest at the lack of attention, but he ignored it. Slowly, he stepped her back until he could drape her across the nearest settee.

She reached to draw him down on top of her, but he settled his weight to one side. With his hand, he slipped past her bared breasts, over her belly, along her hip. His fingers curled about her quivering thigh.

“Do you ever touch yourself? In the dark, when you’re alone?” Her boldness triggered his. He’d never asked such a question of a woman, but he found himself burning to know if Henrietta did. No, she was no longer shy. Who knew what she had learned in the years since their broken engagement?

“What?” She shook her head slightly, her brow creased. “No.”

“You should.” He tugged at her skirts, gathering them upward. She should, but perhaps she wouldn’t have to. If she accepted him into her bed, he’d ensure she never went without. If she accepted him. It was a big
if.

The warm flesh of her thigh firmed beneath his palm as he traced it upward. The hitch of her breath, the roses that bloomed on her cheeks, told him she would not protest.

“Just rest your head and close your eyes,” he whispered, as he inched closer.

With the pads of his fingers, he grazed the springy curls between her thighs. Another pass, and he touched with greater fervor. Moist heat greeted him. Eager, oh, yes, eager and ready. God, he could sheathe himself to the hilt in one thrust.

He pressed closer, parted her, ran his fingers through slick folds. Her sigh of pleasure fast turned to a moan, and she parted her legs. Yes, she craved his touch.

“Just like this,” he murmured, circling the tight bud of flesh above her entrance. “You could touch yourself like this. Do you feel it?”

“Yes.” She shifted beneath his hand, her hips canting, asking for more.

“And you’ve never done this yourself?”

“No, I’ve never been so close … never felt … Ah.”

Lord, he could listen to that airy voice for hours telling him of her pleasure. Making those breathy sounds. Innocent as she still was, he’d urge them from her. He’d drive her to scream.

He bent over her, pressing his body along her side, while his fingers teased her. Lightly, he feathered kisses over her face, feeling every breath she exhaled. He nipped down the column of her neck, touched his tongue to her collarbone, and all the while his fingers circled in a relentless rhythm. Her sighs quickened; her hips moved in counterpoint to his strokes.

Ah, yes, she was rising now, nearly floating. He had only to keep pushing, and soon he’d have her keening. Her breasts rose and fell with rapid pants. He dipped his head and took the offering, at the same time thrusting a finger into her passage.

Tight, so tight, but so wet, she gripped him, as he stroked and tongued and teased and pushed. Higher, she could go higher yet. Her internal muscles held him, drew him in, and, all around, her body gathered. Her hips rose, her thighs trembled, and a shudder passed through her. She cried out and clamped down on him in rapid beats like a pulse racing out of control.

He stayed with her, pushing, pushing, letting her ride his finger as she drove through her crisis, on and on, until, at last, she subsided. He pressed a gentle kiss to her parted lips and brushed the hair away from her forehead.

A moment passed before she came back to herself, and he didn’t think he’d ever seen a more serene expression on anybody’s face. Her eyes fluttered open. “And you want me to touch myself like that?”

“Only if I can watch.” The words popped out before he could stop them.

Her jaw dropped, but then she laughed, a deep, throaty sound that reminded him he hadn’t reached his own conclusion. “You want to watch that?”

“I’ve never witnessed anything more beautiful.” If that wasn’t the honest truth, he didn’t know what was.

“Not even with—”

He cut her off with two fingers pressed to her lips. “Please do not spoil it.”

“Are you and I to go on as if your wife never existed, then?”

He sat back and ran his hands through his hair. His trousers were still undone, and he felt slightly ridiculous. At least the subject of his wife was fast killing his erection. “No, I don’t suppose we can.”

She pushed herself off the pillows. “The way things seemed to be headed, we were about to take a very serious step. I don’t think we can simply ignore the fact you married someone else.”

“I just agreed with you. You’ve no need to argue.” He stood, tucked the hanging ends of his shirt into his trousers, and buttoned the falls, hoping she’d take the hint and put her bodice back together. Even now, the sight of her pink nipples tempted him to taste—only she’d hardly agree to it now. Never finished, indeed. She’d managed to put the lie to that statement.

She glanced down at her state of undress, and the color in her cheeks deepened. “Where are we headed?” she asked, very quietly, as if she wished to give him leeway to pretend he hadn’t heard. No doubt she was loath to voice the question.

“You know the answer to that,” he replied just as quietly.

She reached for the limp fabric of her bodice, dull lavender in the candlelight, and worked at the buttons. “I know where you’d like to be headed. You’ve asked me twice now.”

His heart gave a mighty jump. If his ribs hadn’t still been bandaged, it might have leapt clean through his chest. “You cannot mean—”

“I am still considering.”

“You can
not.
” As much as he wished circumstances were different. “Not now.”

“Whatever danger you believe has pursued you from India, it must end sometime. Until then, I might yet consider.” Her lips stretched into something not quite a smile, but the expression somehow gave him reason to hope.

He crossed to her, placed his fingers beneath her chin and lifted. “Look at me, Henrietta. I cannot change what has passed, but we may yet have a chance to make the future anything we choose.”

“I only want you to understand one thing.” She drew herself up, straight and proud, her eyes glittering. “If you are dangling an offer in front of me out of some misplaced sense of honor and propriety, you can hang along with it. If you’re simply looking for a mother for your daughters, you can look elsewhere. Do not make any sort of promises unless you mean them, unless you want me for myself, and nothing less.”

Before he could challenge those thoughts, she stood, and her skirts fell about her ankles in perfect drapes, as if they hadn’t been disturbed at all. Her bodice smoothed modestly over her breasts. Only the wild tangle of hair about her face proved she’d been engaged in anything scandalous. Silently, she turned and left the room. The click of the door closing echoed loudly in her passing.