Her Gilded Prison (Daughters of Sin Book 1) (12 page)

Only as she grew older did she realize there was more to the act itself. Other women occasionally offered some oblique reference to which those in company might blush or titter. Sybil had no idea what they were talking about although they reinforced the suspicion that this “something more” she craved from Humphry was a physical manifestation of the affection a husband had for his wife.

It took her many years to resign herself to the fact that Humphry felt no physical attraction toward her and that as it would not be forthcoming from her husband she’d have to live without it.

Now, when she’d made her suggestion to Stephen on the wildest of impulses, she’d been determined to treat it in the same manner Humphry had gone about his bedroom encounters. It was the end result that was important. Not the process and she was just a foolish old woman if she thought it could be otherwise.

Yet slowly, with the sweep of Stephen’s hands over sensitive places, a well-placed kiss, and yes, Stephen’s increasingly believable show of genuine pleasure in her body, Sybil was losing her reserve.

In the shadows of her bedroom, as Stephen’s hand skimmed the line of her body from breast to hip, she allowed herself a tiny sigh of pleasure.

“My first victory,” he murmured against her lips, contouring her bottom and squeezing her against him. Against his jutting erection.

She jerked back as if stung but he just laughed and pulled her over, closer against him, whispering, “Desire is nothing to be afraid of, Sybil. Don’t you feel it too?”

And she did. In every nerve ending, in every secret place where pleasure had lain dormant her body was reveling in the slow but steady re-emergence of new life. It fed into her veins, sending out signals to her brain to relax, just relax and enjoy what this handsome young man was offering her, which was so much more than she’d asked for.

They hadn’t made it under the covers. Sybil had planned for all the mechanics to take place in darkness and under the sheets; so when he reached down and grasped the hem of her nightgown, she gasped. He raised his arm, tugging the light linen shift with it and exposing her knees.

“Please don’t,” she begged. “I don’t want you to see me.”

As an older woman she at least knew how to articulate her preferences once matters had been set in motion. She remembered that as a new bride she’d been mute with the terror of it all: the quick fumbling, Humphry’s knee between her legs and the sharp thrust of his manhood into her unprepared entrance. Each time she’d braced for the cruel irony of receiving him in this most intimate manner, knowing how much he resented her for requiring him under the terms of their marriage contract to perform.

A more congenial familiarity with one another had only been established after George  had  been  born  some  years  into  their  marriage.  With  the  required  heir, thankfully in robust health, finally installed in the nursery, Humphry had fulfilled his dynastic requirements and no longer had to force himself to perform the despised act with Sybil.

“I’ve already seen you,” Stephen argued as he gently tugged it up past her thighs. His face gleamed. She saw that he meant what he said. “You’re beautiful. That’s why I want a closer look. Now assist me, please. Raise your arms.”

And lie before him, naked? With the candle guttering behind her?

Resigned, she closed her eyes, her own desire fast evaporating. What she had to offer could not stand up to scrutiny. Humphry had made his offer on the barest acquaintance and look how disappointed he’d been when forced to become intimate.

She was not prepared for Stephen’s enthusiasm. “Oh, you are delectable, Lady Partington,” he sighed, cutting short his praise with an almost boyish gorging upon her right breast.

“What are you doing?” she squeaked.

Breasts were not for suckling by grown men. Surely this was not...right. Yet with his warm mouth closed over her nipple, desire was suddenly in the ascendant. It swamped her, embarrassed her with the flow of moisture between her legs and she shifted awkwardly, remembering that she’d felt like this once before and that it had embarrassed her then, this manifestation of her own prurience, for respectable women didn’t lose control of their bodily juices.

As she glanced down she intercepted the wicked look in his eye. She realized that he’d assumed control. He’d not stop and explain every clever trick.

It was then she decided to throw self-control to the wind. He was clearly enjoying himself, so why shouldn’t she? Within reason. She could do this. Enjoy herself, for it was the letting go that was so hard. She must simply close her eyes and give herself up to physical abandonment, let him dictate the pace and procedure. He knew what he was doing. He was the expert and neither was expecting each other’s hearts. She ought to be used to the sexual act when no deep emotion was involved.

And yet the sensations that ravaged her almost virgin-like body when his hot, devouring mouth licked and suckled, and when he skimmed his hand up her thighs, were devastating.

She tried not to waste her breath gasping with embarrassment or objecting when his thumb and forefinger found the juncture between her legs and began to massage the damp, highly sensitized and most intimate of places. This was obviously what he meant by giving and receiving pleasure. He certainly seemed to enjoy her responses when she squirmed and moaned softly.

“Now I have you where I want you, Lady Partington. Completely naked and completely mine.” The devilish glint in his eye was gratifying in the extreme, as was the enormous length of his shaft when he divested himself of his clothes and once more caged her with his lean, handsome body.

This was male perfection like she’d not witnessed at close quarters. Ever.

She even found herself grinning back. An extreme paradox, for she was the last person she’d ever imagine participating in such wickedness—and enjoying it so much.

“Your wish is my command.” His lips grazed her neck, his hand toying with her nipple, leaving her with an empty, deeply unsatisfied feeling in her lower belly.

When she hitched her hips he gave a low chuckle of understanding but growled, “Not yet, my beauty. There is a great deal more pleasure to be had before I do the business, if I might speak so plainly.”

Sybil was glad the bedcovers had already been turned back by her maid, for when without warning he slid down the bed and ran his tongue the length of her entrance, she shrieked with horror and drew the covers over the sight. This was not right.

And yet the wicked sensations were like nothing she’d ever experienced before.

“Mama...”

Heady desire turned instantly to horror at the sound of Araminta’s voice, filtering in through the doorway with the light of the candle she held. Sybil froze and held her breath as she silently demanded her breathing become more regular.

Araminta. She’d never thought...

Araminta placed her candle onto her mother’s dressing table at the far end of the room and lowered herself onto the stool.

“You didn’t knock?” It was all Sybil could say. Thank God Stephen was beneath the covers, albeit also between her legs.

The heavy carved post of the bed and three yards of floor space diluted visuals. Fortunately, Araminta didn’t seem particularly concerned about her mother, who knew that her apparent lack of night rail and nightcap, not to mention disordered hair, might ring alarm bells. That is, if Araminta were not so self-absorbed.

“I was afraid you wouldn’t hear,” Araminta excused herself. With a sigh she added, “Oh Mama, I do so want to marry Stephen.”

“What!” It was a croak at best. Sybil registered Stephen’s horror too, somewhere in the darkness beneath the bed covers and yes, between Araminta’s own mother’s legs.

“Yet how can I, now that Edgar has returned and is heir? Stephen is handsome and charming and he makes my heart beat faster and I know he is madly in love with me.” She gave another gusty sigh. “But with Edgar alive, Stephen has nothing. Does he, Mama?” She spoke as if desperate for her mother to refute it.

“I...I don’t know very much about Stephen’s situation, my dear.” Sybil shifted, careful to keep the sheet up around her neck—and not to smother Stephen. Lord, she’d never felt so desperately cornered. “Araminta, it’s very late. Perhaps we should have this talk in the morning.”

“Mama, what do you think about Stephen?” Araminta clearly considered her mother’s desire to talk in the morning of no account.

“What do I think of him?” It was all Sybil could do just to repeat the sentence. She didn’t know if she could possibly answer it in such a situation.

“Yes, what do you really think about him? Do you think he’s handsome?”

“Yes, he’s very handsome, Araminta, but—”

“And do you think he’d make a good husband?”

Sybil swallowed. “I think he’s a very kind man. I didn’t think that at first. I thought he was young and callow and very much like so many other young blades who like to sow their wild oats and behave badly.”

“So you don’t think he’s the kind of young man to sow his wild oats and behave badly? I think I know what you mean.”

Sow his wild oats? Isn’t that what he was doing right now? At Sybil’s behest? Right here in Sybil’s bedchamber? Oh Lord, she had to get Araminta out of here.

“I think Stephen understands matters more than you think, Araminta. He knows you won’t—can’t—marry him now that Edgar has returned.”

“Do you think he will forgive me?” Araminta sniffed. “After all, I’ve broken his heart, Mama. He barely caught my eye this afternoon and I was all but begging him to understand that we must be forever rent asunder by the tragedy of this altered situation.”

“The tragedy being that Edgar survived that bullet after all.” Sybil’s tone was dry. She was fast losing patience.

Of course, Araminta had never understood irony. Now she said, dolefully, “I daresay Edgar’s the only one who’s really pleased about the situation but the rest of us must make the best of it. I tried to explain that to Hetty but she refused to speak to me. She’s being awfully churlish. Please will you talk to her, Mama, and tell her not to be so selfish?”

A muffled, choking noise emanated from beneath the covers. Araminta looked up, her brow wrinkled, and Sybil coughed violently. “It’s late, Araminta, and I was in a deep sleep. We can take a stroll in the morning and talk about it then, if you like.”

Araminta rose with obvious reluctance. “I’ve promised to meet Edgar for a walk around the park in the morning.” She narrowed her eyes at her mother. “It looks like you’ve had a nightmare, Mama. Your eyes are quite wild and your face is all flushed. You really look quite gruesome.  Shall  I wake  Mary and  have her make  you up  a cordial?”

“No, Araminta!”

Araminta shrugged. “Just as well, I daresay. Mary gets quite crotchety when she’s disturbed in the middle of the night.” She picked up her candlestick and moved to the door. “Good night, Mama,” she said.

“Good night, Araminta.”

The moment the door closed behind her, Stephen’s head emerged. Sybil put her hands to her flaming cheeks. So she looked gruesome? And poor Stephen had been stuck  under  the covers  in  close quarters  with  her  nether  regions  for  nigh  on  five minutes. He’d not be able to get away fast enough.

“Oh Lord, Sybil, she’s a minx sent to try you.” He drew in a deep lungful of air, gasping between laughter. “And this has only confirmed what a lucky escape I’ve had.” He  collapsed  on  his back beside  Sybil  and  rested  his hand  companionably on  her stomach. “You handled that consummately.” He rolled over onto his side. “And now that I’m quite confident she won’t return, I think it’s time to proceed. Where were we?”

Sybil hadn’t thought she could possibly return to the intimacy that preceded Araminta’s  visit. She’d not  thought  Stephen would have  the  stomach for  it  either. Didn’t it reinforce what pure folly it was?

Stephen, however, seemed to regard the disturbance as hilarious and even more so when Sybil began to rise, feeling hot and flushed and increasingly distressed. At first he didn’t notice but as she reached for her shawl, he leapt after her and grasped her by the shoulders.

The shawl slithered to the floor. Her heart followed. Araminta’s criticism had cut deep.

“What’s wrong?” He wasn’t laughing now. He really didn’t know and yet he really wanted to know.

She glanced away from his hard, young body, gleaming and desirable in the candlelight. He was unaware of his magnificence.

“I hardly imagine you’d want to continue this farce with a gruesome-looking old hag  like myself  with  wild eyes  and flushed cheeks. You  don’t  strike me as  that charitable, Stephen.”

“Good Lord, that little piece knows where to strike, doesn’t she? You mean you really believed her?”

I’m not going to snivel, thought Sybil, clenching her fists and tensing as he wrapped his arms about her and held her tight.

After a moment he put her away from him, tipping up her chin with his forefinger so that he could observe her better. Slowly he traced the outline of her lips. Sensation roared through her and she closed her eyes.

“That’s better,” he murmured, scooping her up once more and depositing her on the bed. “You’re beautiful and I intend to make sure you know it before tonight is over. Now, make room for me. Ah, that’s right.”

Gently he eased her thighs apart. She felt the probing tip of his member and suddenly she was very afraid.

Soon he’d fill her with himself but the sheathing would change her in ways she could never have imagined. She foresaw this and stiffened with the knowledge of how much her actions ran counter to the natural order of things.

And yet did they?

Stephen was looking down at her. In the depths of his eyes she saw the effort his self-restraint cost him, followed by the curve of his smile as he whispered, suddenly relaxing beside her, “I think we’re going just a little too quickly, Lady Partington. This one’s for you.”

Then his clever, deft fingers were coaxing her into sensations she’d never experienced, filling her mind with soaring hopes and her body with rapture as he stroked the slick nub of her desire.

Heat prickled the back of her neck and her scalp, sensation journeyed to her nerve endings and she closed her eyes against the kaleidoscope of color that filled her vision.