Chapter Eight

“Don’t,” she whispered, backing away from him.

“No one would think of coming into the library.” Stripping off his white kid evening gloves, he let them drop.

“Someone might!” Backing into a large chair, flustered, she came to a stop.

“They won’t,” he said, moving toward her at a circumspect pace. “And even if they did, the door is locked.”

“James, I beg of you!”

But the tremor in her voice wasn’t fear, her breathing had accelerated, and her nipples were taut beneath the fine silk of her bodice. “Don’t worry‑you’re perfectly safe,” he offered soothingly.

“Allow me to disagree.” Restive and skittish, she shifted from foot to foot as though about to bolt.

Dare he say to a wavering virgin that he wouldn’t come in her‑that he never did? Or would such bluntness frighten her more? “I promise you no repercussions of any kind,” he said delicately.

“That’s not a promise you can fulfill,” she said with a small vehemence.

“Forgive me if I’m too direct, but if you fear becoming pregnant, you needn’t. I’m very dependable.”

“I see.” She took a small breath. “That is rather direct.”

I’m sorry. I was hoping to allay your fears.” He briefly frowned. “This is unusual for us both, I fear.”

“Because women normally fall into your arms?”

Under the circumstances, that was not a question he cared to answer. “How can it matter,” he said, softly, instead, “whether we make love tonight or tomorrow or the next day?”

“This is not love.”

“It all depends on your interpretation.” She was right, though, about women falling into his arms. Dealing with a woman who didn’t was turning out to be‑well…time consuming, he facetiously thought, suddenly amused by this curious scuffle.

“Is something humorous?”

“Would you like the truth?”

“I would like to be somewhere else,” she pettishly replied, struggling to reconcile her potent desires with the manifold improprieties.

He smiled. “Perhaps in my bed?”

“Very amusing.”

“I dare say you’d find it more than amusing.”

“Such arrogance, Ormond.”

His smile widened. “Now you owe me tuppence.”

“How cavalier you are. Do women find your casual impertinence appealing?”

He laughed. “As you noted the other day, women find my fortune the most appealing‑your sister included if I may say so without offending you further. Although, if you allow me, I could show you my more admirable qualities.” She was too green to hear the truth about what most appealed to his lovers.

“And if I allow that, I shall adore you as well?”

“I didn’t say I was adored.” He was pleased to see her skittishness displaced by a petulance he knew how to deal with. “Let’s just say that the ladies I know are always appreciative .”

“So I understand. The gossip sheets proclaim you much in demand in the boudoir.”

“I admit to a certain popularity,” he said, smiling faintly, aware of the most trifling peevishness in her voice, as though she were feeling deprived. “Perhaps I might convince you of what you’ve been missing if you’d allow.”

She made a small moue. “Conceited man.”

“I’m good at what I do.”

“And why wouldn’t you be since vice is the sole focus of your life.”

“Au contraire. It’s the scandal sheets that thrive on sex. I have many interests. When we have more time, I’ll tell you about them. As for vice, my sweet little prude, let me change your mind‑and your vocabulary apropos pleasure.” He dropped his gaze to her taut nipples, then looked up and smiled at her. “I’d wager you’re feeling a certain heated palpitation in your‑”

“Don’t say it,” she blurted out.

“I only meant to point out that we have privacy, you and I have agreed to agree and I could assuage your‑er‑restlessness if you’d like. I guarantee you’ll enjoy yourself.”

His voice was hushed and low, his provocative offer tempting. And he was right‑she’d already agreed to this. “I am not a prude,” she whispered. “I just didn’t expect this‑” she waved her hand slightly, indicating the venue. “In all honesty,” she reluctantly added, “I do find myself‑”

“Intrigued?”

She sighed. “Yes.”

“Then why not think of this as an investment in your sister’s future. Would that make it better‑easier? Harriet is being served up a full array of suitors,” he saliently noted. “Which was the point of our arrangement, was it not?”

“I didn’t think‑that is…I wasn’t planning on the‑well…suddenness.”

Unlike her, he wasn’t indecisive. As for suddenness, he hardly thought waiting two entire days met that criteria. “The door’s locked. The drapes are drawn. Your sister and aunt are intent on their own pleasures.” He moved closer; they were only inches apart. “Look,” he said, holding out his arms, “You set the pace. I won’t touch you. How would that be?”

His deep voice was benign, his offer innocuous. How could it hurt?‑the little voice inside her head observed.

“You could start by kissing me,” he suggested, not entirely sure a tyro knew what to do. Not sure he could wait much longer. Although the heated flush on her cheeks, the agitated rise and fall of her breasts gave him reason to think she might be more ready than she realized.

Would she or would she not give in to her urges?

Could he or could he not continue to play the gentleman with her sexual need so blatant?

Then, fortunately for his peace of mind and aching cock, she moved forward an infinitesimal distance, and clenching his fists he stood immobile‑waiting.

Slowly raising her gloved hands, she placed them gingerly on his white satin waistcoat.

And he waited still‑breath‑held.

The sweet scent of her overwhelmed his senses as she rose on tiptoe and leaned into him. Her soft breasts pressed into his chest, her thighs brushed against his, and then, more pertinently, her lower body came into contact with his hard, pulsing erection.

Only with the utmost restraint did he remain motionless.

Provocatively aware of the rigid length of his penis prodding her stomach, the tantalizing proximity further fanned her already fevered desires and, wild with longing, Claire abruptly jettisoned reason and logic. Overwhelmed by lust, she gave into the more powerful, corrupting force.

Ormond might have told her as much before time.

But perhaps for virgin maidens, experience was the better teacher.

Her last fears and trepidation cast aside, she shut her eyes, gave herself up, and kissed him.

As her lips finally made contact with his, he felt a wild excitement out of all proportion to the simple act. Cynic that he was, he immediately attributed his feelings to the prolonged delay in gaining the lady’s favors.

Less cynical, or not cynical at all, further buoyed by a heated rush of incredible pleasure melting through her senses, Claire opened her eyes and kissed Ormond again‑gladly and willingly. With the euphoria of having tasted the sweetest of forbidden fruit.

Dropping back on her heels a moment later, newly liberated and giddy with joy, she smiled up at him. “I couldn’t resist you. I couldn’t no matter what. I expect you hear that often.”

“No, of course not,” he urbanely replied.

“How polite you are, but never fear‑I am content to be added to your list of conquests. The gossip sheets are right; you are irresistible. And now, since the die is cast,” she quickly added, as though any deliberation might cause her to falter in her course, “if you’d be so kind as to unbutton me, I won’t have to worry about wrinkling my gown.” Pulling off her kid gloves, she swung around so her back was to him.

Her swift volte‑face from apprehension to this unvarnished candor was unexpected, but never one to reflect overlong when offered sex, Ormond quickly set about doing her bidding.

“You’re sure the door is locked?” She could have been speaking to her greengrocer, so prosaic her tone.

“Yes.” His fingers flew over the buttons.

“And you promise we’ll have no interruptions.” She carefully set her gloves on the chair arm.

He laughed, charmed by her engaging frankness. “At the moment, darling, I would quite willingly offer you anything at all.”

She flashed him a smile over her shoulder. “I dare say if I were the mercenary type, this would be my opportunity to strike an excellent bargain.”

“No doubt about it,” he said with a grin, slipping her dress from her shoulders, speaking from experience.

“Although I suppose that window of opportunity is fast closing,” she teased, pushing the gown down her hips, and stepping out of it. Feeling suddenly as though she were on French leave from the dull monotony of her life, she turned back to him with the sweetest of smiles.

“I assure you, I will not be ungrateful at any stage,” he murmured, winking at her as he stripped off his coat.

As she carefully spread her gown over the back of a chair, he kicked off his shoes and dropped his coat on the floor.

“Now you’re going to be wrinkled.”

“Don’t worry about it.” He unfastened his waistcoat.

“But I do.”

It was her schoolmistress tone‑so sensitive to her precarious feelings he readily complied, picking up his coat and placing it on a nearby table. “Better?” he queried, sliding off his waistcoat. “Would you like someone to press our clothes later?” he teased.

“Very funny, I’m sure. While you may not be concerned about‑”

Tossing his waistcoat at the table, he picked her up, curtailing any further comments she might be tempted to make by moving forward with all speed. “We’ll fix whatever you need fixing afterward,” he generously offered, carrying her to a large leather sofa set in the center of the room, sitting down with her on his lap. “If I proceed too fast or too slow, speak up. I am not averse to instructions,” he murmured, conscious he had a virgin on his hands.

The prospect gave him pause.

He’d never been with a virgin.

Tonight would be a first for each of them.

“I confess you’ve been rather constantly on my mind,” Claire whispered, intoxicated by his touch, his nearness, his compelling size and beauty.

Ormond touched her cheek lightly. “I have been thoroughly obsessed with you since you first burst into my house. You were a ferocious little tiger‑bewitching and bedeviling me. Leading me into temptation.”

“And me,” she whispered. “Because of you, I am undone.”

More aroused by her delicate vulnerability than the most adroit courtesan practicing her craft, he found himself inclined to mount her on the spot. Drawing in a breath, he cautioned himself to restraint. “We are both undone‑and I for one am unaccustomed to the feeling.”

“You don’t mean to‑that is…you aren’t changing your mind?” she said with unseemly panic.

“No, no, indeed not.”

“Oh, good. Should I take this off then?” She plucked at her shift. “I don’t mean to rush you, but I worry our absence might be remarked upon.”

Could he ask for more? “Rush me all you want,” he murmured, reaching for the buttons on her shift, gratified that her timidity no longer deterred her.

She didn’t wear a corset, although her gown was boned to define the narrow waistline that was fashionable once again. He was thankful for one less garment to remove.

“May I unbutton your shirt?”

The hesitancy in her voice struck some primal nerve, reminding him afresh that there was a world outside the brittle façade of the ton . A place where women weren’t all experienced at pleasing a man, where innocence wasn’t unknown. “Please do,” he said, gently, feeling as though he was about to enter uncharted territory.

As she freed the diamond studs on his shirt front, he slipped her shift from her shoulders, taking note of the unadorned cambric fabric much the worse for wear. He would take pleasure in giving her a new wardrobe. She dressed austerely‑like a governess‑part of her resolve not to be beholden to her aunt, no doubt.

She needn’t worry about being beholden to him.

He was generous with his lovers.

And breasts like hers should be covered with the finest silk.

Slipping his palms under her opulent breasts, he gently weighed them in his hands. “You hide these.” He smiled. “Now that you’re mine, I’m grateful.”

“I’m not yours.” But her voice was hushed, her fingers arrested on his shirt front.

“Really.” He tightened his fingers slightly, leaving an indentation on her soft plump breasts. “I thought we had a bargain.”

She shut her eyes against the fevered ecstasy streaking downward from his hands to the throbbing ache between her legs.

“Tell me,” he whispered, taking her nipples between his thumb and forefinger, squeezing gently. “Tell me you’re mine.”

She shuddered as a jolt of desire rippled through her vagina. “Yes, yes.”

“Yes, what?” For a man who had always avoided female entanglements, that he required her submission should have been a warning or disquieting at least.

“Yes, yes,” she breathed, as he gently massaged her nipples, as her body opened in lustful welcome, as long‑suppressed desires overwhelmed all else. “I’m yours. I’m yours…”

“Good.” A brusque, blunt avowal.

“Would you…I mean‑could you possibly‑” her gaze was fevered, impatient, her breathing unsteady.

“Fuck you?”

She looked away, her bottom lip caught in her teeth.

For a virgin, she was ravenously eager. Although how would he know what a virgin was like? “I’m sorry, that was rude,” he whispered, thinking her the picture of unspoiled womanhood, all pink, soft innocence in half undress.

“I shouldn’t have asked,” she said, turning back, embarrassed, yet impatient, unsure of the degree of wantonness allowed.

“Of course you should have,” he murmured. “Ask me anything.” And bending down, he kissed her trembling mouth.

She clutched at him and whimpered, offered herself up with a desperate abandon no man with a heartbeat could have refused. Quickly easing her down on the couch, he whispered, “I’ll be right with you,” and stood to strip off his remaining clothes.

This time, he dropped them on the floor without regard for Miss Russell’s sensibilities.

She didn’t notice, but he didn’t think she would, lying as she was with her eyes closed, shuddering and trembling. Suddenly, her body went rigid, and clenching her fists, she shut her eyes so tightly her eyelids turned white.

An image that gave him serious pause.

It wasn’t as though he had a dearth of women wanting to fuck him.

Did he really want this patently reluctant woman?

“I’m not sure I’m looking for a sacrificial virgin,” he murmured, although even as he spoke, he was chiding himself for being so magnanimous with his personal pleasure at stake.

“Wrong,” she whispered. “Please don’t make me wait.”

There. That certainly was unequivocal permission.

Not giving himself any more time to question his philanthropic impulses, he quickly lowered himself over her body, smoothly positioned himself between her legs and guided his throbbing cock to her sex. Reminding himself to enter her slowly‑losing one’s virginity was said to be painful‑he carefully eased the crest of his erection into her cleft.

She was succulent and slick, her tissue liquified by lust, but he moved forward delicately, penetrating the merest distance before politely pausing.

To his surprise, she lifted her hips, enticing him deeper.

Grateful for her overture, having never dealt with a woman who had been rigid with fear, he thrust forward marginally and meeting no resistance, drove in deeper yet.

And deeper.

And deeper still.

As he buried his cock up to the hilt in her hot, molten cunt, he suddenly understood that he had misread the implication of her utterance‑wrong .

Miss Russell was no sacrificial virgin; she was no virgin at all.

Beneath her schoolmistress persona and virtuous pose was a woman of lush voluptuousness and seeming sexual appetites.

He felt enormous relief, profound gratitude, and a seriously explosive ardor. There was no need to tread lightly, as it were. The lady was no novice; in fact from her impassioned response, from her soft sighs and eager moans, her clutching hands on his shoulders and back, her lush, tight, avaricious cunt, he rather thought he’d chanced upon the more sexually liberated of the Russell sisters.

With professionalism and artistry, he set about exploring the silken heat of her willing cunt, moving from side to side, in and out, more fully appreciating her ready response for having thought it absent. As she enthusiastically matched his rhythm, offering variations of her own with a spirited zeal, clinging to him as though he were her sexual salvation, he experienced a new level of erotic sensation.

Overwrought and overstimulated after being celibate so long, Claire drifted in some mindless glow of rapture and ecstasy, a flushing, tingling, all‑pervasive mist of ravishment and delight. She felt each spiking impact as he thrust forward, each tactile caress and oscillation, each slow stroke and flutter of withdrawal, and consumed by a red‑hot hysteria, she came so quickly the first time, Ormond had to swiftly improvise.

A man of less virtuosity might have failed her.

Fortunately, years of practice came to the fore and swiftly shifting direction, he drove back in, plumbing her depths. Cramming her full, he held himself hard against her womb as she climaxed in a panting, blissful, suffocated scream.

He marveled at her control. Even in extremis, she’d curbed her orgasmic cry. But then Miss Russell was not an impulsive woman. Or under most circumstances she was not, he thought with a smile.

Always a courteous lover, he waited for her fevered sensibilities to cool before slowly resuming his rhythm.

“I am smitten and enraptured,” she breathed, her eyes heavy with pleasure. “Although, never fear, I know my place.”

“Preferably under me,” Ormond murmured, thinking her tactful in the extreme. Women were always quick to stake claim, as though having sex somehow allowed them to intrude into his life. This little schoolmistress wouldn’t be demanding it seemed. The perfect woman, he fondly reflected.

“I couldn’t agree more.” She smiled sweetly and wrapped her legs around his waist.

She recovered quickly, matching his rhythm once again as though she’d not just climaxed. “We need more time,” he murmured, thinking a week or so would suit him with a woman of such carnal proclivities.

“I’d like that.”

Suddenly they both heard the orchestra for the first time since they’d entered the library as though aware once again of reality. Or perhaps the musicians had been on break and they hadn’t noticed.

Regardless, they became conscious of time.

“Once more before we go?” he said with a smile.

“Please, may I?”

His cock increased enormously at the guileless naivete of her response. He almost decided to disregard the possibility of exposure to have his fill of her tonight. Although, that thought died after the briefest of seconds. He was not so rash.

Also, he wanted more than the furtive interval allowed them here.

And while he didn’t know exactly why he wanted it, he knew he did.

“You feel glorious around my cock,” he whispered, forcing himself deep inside her.

“I adore‑him‑and you,” she whispered back, gasping as he bottomed out, stretching her taut, pulsing tissue.

“Have your fill,” he breathed, selfishly hoping it didn’t take her too long to come this time, settling into a slow, artful rhythm he’d perfected over the years. It was about feeling, not speed, positioning, not indiscriminating oscillation. It was about watching and listening‑about paying attention.

In short order, Claire died away in blissful release once again, uttering his given name in a breathless litany of thanksgiving and joy.

Ormond climaxed a few moments later, although he was less vocal. But he went off the deep end with equal frenzy or in his case with unusual violence to sensibilities he didn’t realize he possessed.

Perhaps he had become too jaded.

Sex of late had not been particularly soul‑stirring. Which made his reaction to Miss Russell even more surprising. But rather than overintellectualize his feelings, he decided instead to pursue further sensations with Miss Russell and once his breathing returned to normal, he said, “I’ll make it better next time. We won’t be so rushed.”

“You were excellent.”

He smiled, feeling as though he’d been graded. “Thank you. I enjoyed your company as well.”

She looked up and smiled back. “And thank you too for being‑so dependable.”

“Selfish motive impels me.”

“Nevertheless, your selfishness also benefits me.”

He didn’t respond other than lift his chin toward the sound of music. “We should rejoin the festivities.”

She suddenly felt as though he were aloof, detached. It’s over. He’s had his fill and he’s bored, she thought, feeling a vast unhappiness. He hadn’t meant what he’d said when he mentioned not being so rushed next time. It was politesse only, a kind way of taking his leave.

“Just a minute. I’ll wipe you off,” he said in that same neutral tone as he rose from the sofa. Pulling an embroidered runner from a nearby table, he sat beside her and wiped his semen from her stomach. Shoving the stained cloth under the sofa, he said with a small sigh, “I hate to do this. I’d rather stay. But people might notice.”

It was astonishing how a few simple phrases could return joy to her life. “I understand. One must be sensible.”

As if on cue, a knock sounded at the door.

Claire instantly went pale. “We are found out,” she whispered.

“I expect it’s Catherine.” If anyone was serious about getting in, they would have put more strength behind their knock. “Let me see.” Reaching for his trousers, he stepped into them and strode toward the door. “May I help you?” he asked, in the event it wasn’t his cousin.

“Mrs. Bellingham is asking for Miss Russell.”

It was Catherine. “We’ll be there directly.” Without waiting for a reply, he returned to the sofa where Claire had already pulled on her shift and was sliding on her slippers.

She should have new slippers he thought, taking in the state of the worn leather. “It was Catherine,” he said instead. “Your aunt is looking for you. Don’t look so worried. We can exit the library and enter the ballroom through the refreshment room next door.” He nodded toward a narrow doorway set between bookshelves. “It’s a private entrance.”

“How convenient.”

“You needn’t speak in that tone. I have never made use of either the library or that door. Harry uses it. It allows him access to a concealed stairway leading to his bedchamber upstairs.”

“Oh,” Claire said in a very small voice.

He grinned. “I accept your apology. Now, do you need help?”

“With the buttons, if you please.” She pulled her gown from the back of the chair and lifted it over her head.

The buttons were quickly fastened and while Claire stood before a gilt‑framed mirror pinning up her hair, Ormond dressed with the speed he’d acquired escaping women’s boudoirs.

“How do I look?” Claire nervously asked a few moments later, adjusting her décolletage before smoothing her palms over her skirt.

Ormond glanced up from buttoning his waistcoat. “You look perfect. Not a wrinkle in sight.”

“Now, you’re sure we can return undetected?”

“Positive.” He slipped on his coat, snapped his cuffs into place, and surveyed the immediate area for any missed items.

“How can you be so cool and collected?”

“Darling, no one will dare say a word to me.”

“They will still stare at me.”

“You worry too much. This is my cousin’s house. I visit often. Even if someone were to see us come out, I can show anyone I please the library. You’re a schoolmistress, after all. Why wouldn’t you enjoy seeing Harry’s collections?”

“Sometime I actually might.”

“Anytime, darling. Just say the word.”

He made her feel as though he could deal with any conceivable situation, that she was safe, that the world was his to command. “Thank you for your calm. I confess, this entire evening is intimidating.”

“You seemed relaxed a few moments ago.”

She blushed. “Thank you for that as well.”

“Au contraire. Thank you for making this miserable rout altogether enchanting. Ready?” He nodded toward the small doorway.

She nodded.

“Give me a second to unlock the main door.” He quickly did so, picking up his gloves in the bargain and slipping them on. Returning to her side, he said, “Plan on seeing me tomorrow after school.”

Yes, yes, yes, she wanted to say. Faced with reality, she said instead, “I usually go home soon after the school day is over.”

His brows rose.

“I’ll make some excuse.”

“Thank you,” he crisply said. Then he leaned over and kissed her as though in apology. “Forgive me. I’m impatient.”

“I could say I’m grading papers‑but I can’t stay long. My normal routine is quite fixed.”

“I’ll have to make it worth our while, then,” he said with a grin. “Although, I warn you, I won’t be content with these rushed occasions for long. So begin making plans,” he said with the casual prerogative of his titled position. “Now here we go, darling,” he went on as though the matter was settled. He opened the door. “We’re on stage.

Date: 2015-04-20; view: 562