Why Lords Lose Their Hearts (13 page)

“It’s not a bit too anything,” he assured her, caressing her face. “You are beautiful, my dear. You don’t need a thin nightrail to tell me that, but I am a man, after all. If I were immune to what that silk does for you I think I’d have to be dead.”

“Really?” she asked in a surprised voice, stepping into the circle of his arms.

“Really,” he said on a whisper as he kissed her. Softly, oh so softly, he moved his mouth on hers, kissing and lightly sucking as she opened her mouth and let him in. Perdita answered the first thrust of his tongue with a lick of her own.

“Why am I nearly naked, when you are still almost fully clothed?” Perdita asked as he brought his lips down over her chin. Her hands moved restlessly over the lawn of his shirt. “It’s not quite fair, sir.”

“I’ll disrobe just as soon as I do this one thing,” he said against her skin. He was intoxicated by the smell, the feel, the taste of her. As he kissed down her chest, he felt her fingers in his hair. And when he bent to suckle her through the thin fabric of her gown, she made a sound that sent all of his blood southward.

“Oh, that. That’s divine,” she said in a low voice that thrummed in his belly. And when he lightly pulled at her nipple the hands in his hair pulled him closer. “Archer, my God.”

“No,” he whispered, “just a man.” Kissing his way back up to her mouth, he bent slightly and slid his right hand beneath her knees. “I think this would be much more comfortable on a soft surface,” he said as he lifted her into his arms.

Surprised, Perdita made a little squeak. “I could have walked, you know,” she said in a faint voice. “But this is much nicer.”

“I’m glad you like it,” he said, lowering her onto the large bed, which had been turned down earlier. He leaned down to kiss her again, craving the warmth of her mouth, her skin.

She scooted over to make room for him, and Archer climbed up alongside her, propping his head up on his hand. “Perdita,” he said, trying to keep his voice level while his body warred with what his heart and mind told him was necessary before anything more happened between them. “I don’t know what sort of things Gervase…” He paused, searching for the right words. “If he was rough with you,” he said, “or if there is anything from your time with him you find uncomfortable or unsettling, you must tell me. Please. Tonight is for pleasure. Yours is paramount. Mine will happen no matter what, simply by dint of my sex.”

At his words, her face lost the glow she’d had a moment ago, and he thought perhaps he shouldn’t have said anything. But then she spoke. “You are the sweetest man I’ve ever met, Archer Lisle.” She leaned forward to kiss him softly, and to bring her body flush with his. From head to toe. Archer felt each and every point of connection. “Gervase was rough with me at times,” she continued, her face serious even as she stroked his arm, slid her hand down to clasp her hand with his. “I thought then that I would never, ever want to be with a man again.”

Archer fought to keep from showing his disappointment.

“But,” she said, leaning in to kiss his neck, “I have had a great deal of time to think about it. And I’ve…” She ducked her head under his chin, hiding her face, “I’ve found myself watching you, wanting you for some time. And if ever there was a man I could trust to be nothing like Gervase, it’s you.”

A sigh escaped him as he pulled her against him and kissed the top of her head. “My dear girl, I have felt much the same way about you. But I beg you to let me know if anything I do bothers you. All right?”

“All right,” she said as he pressed his lips against hers again. He stroked into her mouth again and again, allowing his hand to wander down over the silk of her gown as he did so. Inch by inch he slid it up until he could touch the soft skin beneath, and Perdita, not to be outdone, began pulling his shirt from his breeches. When her hand slipped beneath to caress bare skin, Archer hissed a breath in at the sensation of her soft hands on him.

While she explored his back, he slipped the arm of her nightrail down until her breast was exposed, and went back to it, kissing, sucking, scraping it with his teeth. With each touch Perdita grew more restless, and when he caressed a hand up from her calf to her knee to her thigh, to the place between, she panted a little. “Easy,” he whispered, stroking a finger over her, into her, grateful for her body’s readiness. When he slipped a finger into her, she made a whimpering sound. “Alright?” he asked, though he didn’t remove his hand. “Alright,” she said, nearly breathless, “more than okay.” When he began stroke in and out of her, she grew even more excited, lifting her hips to meet him, and when he added another finger she moaned and continued to move against him.

Unable to resist, Archer removed his hand, and began to slide down the bed. “What are you doing?” Perdita asked. Her voice was plaintive.

“Something you’ll like,” he said, parting her knees and sliding first one leg, then the other over his shoulders.

“Are you…?” She sounded puzzled. “Are you looking at me?”

“Yes,” he replied, amused. “And then I’m going to taste you.”

Before she could say anything else, he suited words to action and licked her luxuriantly, and Perdita let out a sound, half moan half sigh. Smiling to himself, Archer savored the scent of her wanting, using his tongue to caress her outer folds, and then stroking up over the sensitive bundle of nerves that brought the most pleasure. As he caressed her, Perdita began to shift her body, lifting her hips in the rhythm he set with his tongue, and soon he brought first one and then two fingers up and pressed them into her as he sucked lightly on her bud. Stroke by stroke, moment by moment, Perdita grew more and more aroused. And by this time Archer was almost painfully hard as he held off on his own pleasure to stoke hers.

Finally, she hit a point of no return and as he stroked faster and faster into her, and suckled her one last time, she let out a cry and lost herself, her hips jerking uncontrollably until finally, her tremors subsided and she collapsed on the bed, spent.

*   *   *

Perdita had never felt anything more blissful in her life. She’d supposed that Gervase had tried every sort of lovemaking on her. First to woo, then to punish. But she hadn’t known the half of it.

“What do you call that?” she asked, her voice breathless.

She heard him chuckle as he kissed her stomach and climbed up to kiss her mouth. She tasted something—herself? It was strangely exciting.

“The technical term is ‘cunnilingus,’” he said with a half-grin. “And you may rest assured that every schoolboy in the nation spends a great deal of time thinking about it.”

“I liked it very much,” she said with what almost sounded like a purr. When had she learned to purr?

While they talked Archer divested himself of the rest of his clothes and Perdita did the same. When he turned, Perdita saw just how beautiful a specimen of manhood he was. And there springing up from a nest of gold curls was a very large, very insistent erection.

He didn’t linger, but climbed up onto the bed, and as he stretched out beside her, Perdita couldn’t stop herself from sliding her hands over the hard muscles of his chest. He was so well made, she thought. She’d always known he was handsome, of course, but without clothes he was somehow more primitive. More animal. The thought made her breath catch in her throat.

And at just that moment, Archer gripped her by the arms and flipped onto his back bringing her to sit astride him. As they moved, his erection slid against the center of her, sending another pulse of pleasure through her as it did.

“Oh,” she gasped as Archer’s hands gripped her hips. In this position, she felt powerful. Experimentally she lifted up onto her knees, bringing herself into contact with his member again.

“Easy,” he said, pulling her back down. “Not yet.” Curiously she watched as he sheathed himself with something, his fingers brushing against her as he did so, stealing the breath from her. He muttered something, and she wanted to ask him to repeat himself, but when he gripped her hips and brought her forward and up she lost her breath again. Perdita lifted up on her knees a bit and guided the tip of him to her opening. Without further conversation, she lowered herself onto him.

At first, there was some resistance, but when Archer thrust up, she took him in until he was fully seated and they both moaned.

“You can control things this way,” he said after a silent moment where they both savored the sensation. “Better.”

And to her great delight, Perdita learned he was right. Using her thigh muscles she set the pace, raising and lowering onto him, while Archer followed the pace she set and thrust upward on her every downstroke. With each movement, Perdita felt needier and needier, wanting more of him, more friction, more motion. As she moved, Archer leaned forward and took her breast into his mouth. To Perdita’s shock the sensation sent a jolt right down to where they were joined. She kissed him, and felt the same overwhelming sensation his mouth on her mound had brought, only this time it felt stronger. As if they were more fully connected.

As her excitement built toward a crescendo, she became mindless to what was going on around her, so when Archer flipped her neatly onto her back, she was only annoyed until he began to stroke harder, and faster into her. The increased intensity, and his hot breath on her neck brought her even higher. And when she felt his thumb on her where they were joined, she tipped right over the edge from excitement to ecstasy, her body on fire as she heard Archer’s hoarse shout, and they both were lost to a moment’s oblivion.

Eleven

Archer came back to himself with the realization that he’d collapsed on Perdita’s chest like a green boy. “Sorry,” he murmured as he rolled off her. “Be right back,” he said and padded to where he’d left his cravat and with his back to her removed the French letter and wrapped it in the neck cloth. It wouldn’t do for Perdita’s maid to find it among her things. They had enough eyes on them thanks to the threats against her.

He’d been waiting to have her for such a long time that he’d feared their first encounter would be awkward. They were friends, after all, and when friends became lovers trouble often followed. But Perdita had far surpassed his expectations. Despite what she’d gone through in her marriage, she’d managed to retain a fresh and natural sensuality that made her every touch and response as exciting as if she were a practiced courtesan.

He’d expected things to be good between them. It was rare that he felt such a spark with a woman—and he wasn’t sure he’d ever experienced a connection as strong as the one with Perdita. This was very different from the lackluster couplings he’d had with other women. Once more he wished like hell that he could persuade her out of her foolish determination to marry someone else. But patience was a skill he’d learned over his career working with the House of Lords, so he would simply rely upon it to help him to either convince her to marry him, or to wait her out.

When he climbed back into the bed and pulled her against him, Perdita slipped her arm over his chest and said, “I didn’t mind.”

At his questioning glance she clarified. “Your weight. I like the feel of it.”

“Do you?” he asked, curious. “I thought ladies disliked being crushed.”

She raised one brow, in a mockery of himself, he guessed with an inward smile. “I don’t know what other ladies you might have been consorting with,” she said with asperity, “but this one feels differently.”

Her words made him wince. “I haven’t particularly been a saint, you know. There have been others before you.”

She tucked her head beneath his chin and began to draw circles on the surface of his chest. “I know that. I know how gentlemen are. I didn’t expect you to come to me untouched.”

He wasn’t sure he liked her comment about “how gentlemen” were. Because he knew much of her understanding of men had been formed by her husband and her father. Neither of whom were particularly fine examples of the breed.

“I wish I could have,” he said, knowing the statement made him sound like a ridiculous romantic fool, but he truly did wish he could have come to her without the memories and knowledge of the others. It wasn’t that there were so very many. It was more that he felt Perdita deserved more.

She looked up at him, from this angle her lashes long and lush and catching the candlelight. “I don’t mind,” she said. Her face turning sly, she added, “If you’d come to me without ever having done this before, you wouldn’t have known some of the things that I found the most … delightful.”

That was one way to look at things, he supposed. Though he could have done rather well with only books as his tutor. Even so it was a moot point now, so there was no going back.

“About the … French memo, was it?” she asked, returning to her exploration of his chest.

“Letter,” he corrected with a grin he was grateful she couldn’t see. He’d imagine the Foreign Office would be quite unamused if they found a stack of French letters had replaced their French memorandums.

“Yes, that’s it, ‘letter,’” she said with a nod that tickled his chin. “Where did you learn about those?”

This had turned into rather more of a discussion than he’d anticipated. But Archer was glad she trusted him enough to ask. And since these issues involved her own body she was entitled to answers.

He thought back to when he’d first heard about the lambskin sheaths. It felt as if he’d known forever but that couldn’t be true. “I suppose in school,” he said, frowning. “Or perhaps from one of my brothers. They were good about lording their knowledge about such things over my head.”

“Ah,” she said, laughing softly. “Siblings can be that way, can they not? Isabella used to do the same kind of things to me.”

“Boys can be especially annoying, though.” Which was an understatement. He knew Isabella and she could not possibly have acted as superior as his brothers had. There were advantages to being the youngest, but there were also drawbacks.

“How many are there?” Perdita asked. “Brothers, I mean. I knew you were the son of the Duke of Lisle but I didn’t realize you had lots of brothers.”

“Not so many,” Archer said with a shrug. “Four. We get along well enough now, but when we were children we tormented one another.”