Lessons in Pleasure (2 page)

They both gasped, James perhaps a little more loudly.

She had never touched him there, had never . . . “I’m sorry,” she whispered in horror. “I didn’t mean to. Did I hurt you?”

“No.” But he sounded hurt. Sounded as if he were holding his breath. “Sarah?”

“Y-yes?” His hand tightened on her breast, his thumb and finger pinched her nipple, and brightness trailed through her body. When she recovered from that, she realized she arched up, pressing herself boldly into his grip, mewling a little. Whatever James had been about to say, he forgot it, and his mouth covered hers.

She’d never thought him a poor kisser, but these kinds of kisses had always seemed a bit . . . sloppy. Too intimate. But tonight when his tongue slipped against hers, it was the exact right thing. Somehow appeasing and inflaming at once. Enough and not nearly enough.

Sarah turned toward him and kissed him back. That was the end of conscious thought for her. All further sensation tangled up in a great mess of mouths and hands and fingers. He caressed her breasts and stroked her belly, then pulled her nightgown up and off. Then his mouth was on one nipple and his hand on the other and the whole of his hard body pressed against her side. She could feel his shaft snug against her thigh, and his mouth sucking and his fingers exploring lower, until all she could think was, please, please, please.

He was so slow, so gentle, and by the time his fingers snuck into the dark curls between her thighs, Sarah was beside herself. Whimpering and writhing, wanting so much what she had hoped to avoid on other nights. She wanted to be
had
. Taken. Entered.

His hand stroked her, and Sarah had to hold her breath lest she scream. His fingers slipped easily against her, lubricated by her body, and he ceased to kiss her breasts and merely panted against her damp skin.

She clenched her eyes shut, horrified by the flagrant wetness of her sex, wishing he would simply get on with it and not notice. Her prayers were answered. James eased between her thighs and pressed his maleness to her. When he thrust in, Sarah gulped for air.

My God.
My God, it felt so right. So necessary. How had she only thought this tolerable? Tonight when he sank deep, she wanted him deeper. When he stretched her flesh with his startling girth, she shuddered for more.

Lungs straining, she clasped her hands around his sweat-damp back and held him close until he rose to his arms and began to move. His hips thrust. In and out. Sarah had found the in rather uncomfortable before, but now it seemed the entire point. The
in.
Yes. The
in.

Her fingernails dug into his back. James groaned and thrust harder. Her breath tripped out of her lungs as if forced by a bellows. She strained up, up, to meet him. To make the
in
more and better. And when she lifted her knees higher, it was.

“Ah, Christ,” James gasped. “Sarah. Yes.”

Yes
. He felt it, too. Something. Something tight and empty in her belly. The place his seed would go, perhaps. A hollow only he could fill. “James,” she begged. He must know what to do. He must.

His body turned to stone. He froze. And Sarah nearly wept.

It was over, but her sex was still stretched and needing. Her belly still empty.

But he didn’t collapse on her. His chest still heaved for air, and his shaft did not diminish in the least. After a few more deep breaths, James shifted his weight onto one arm and slid one hand between their bodies.

Wide-eyed, she waited in complete confusion. And then she cried out.

His fingers had found that spot. That place he often stroked before he took her. The place that had, heretofore, made her wriggle a bit at the sensation. But tonight, that place sang like an instrument under James’s stroking fingertips.
She
sang. She moaned and gasped and strained her head back into the pillow.

Despite what she’d suspected, James had not finished. Still stroking, he thrust again. And again. And what she’d thought was glorious before had been nothing to this. Friction and tightness and the perfect amount of pleasure.

Gritting her teeth, she arched to meet him.

“Yes, Sarah. My sweet. Yes.”

Yes, she thought.
Yes.
And then her body turned in on itself, a snake writhing into a knot. Everything tightened to an impossible tension, and then . . . then she was set free, sobbing, gasping.

James shouted something, stiffened above her for a long moment before he shuddered hard against her.

Before she slept, she felt him press a dozen kisses to her neck, and then she was falling deep into blackness.

C
HAPTER
2

Every time a step sounded outside the breakfast-room door, James tensed and stared, cold toast and kipper forgotten. After the fifth time the footsteps of the industrious maid passed, James rose, opened the door, and propped it open with the nearest vase.

There. Now he would look less like a hound anticipating his generous mistress and her pocketful of treats. Sarah would not enter to find him all agape. Instead, she’d enter to find him only stunned and eager.

Last night had been . . . Well, frankly, it had been the most shocking night of his life. Not the most debauched. Not the least dignified. Just the most surprising.

He’d had lovers. The widow of a prosperous merchant. A brief affair with a rather lusty governess. And a long affair with a slightly older woman whose husband had moved to France fifteen years before and refused to send for her. He’d had pleasant affairs, and had pleasured those women.

But he’d mistakenly assumed that Sarah wasn’t quite like them. She was so dignified. Innocent and reserved. Measured. A woman of a higher class, perhaps not geared toward the carnal.

Not that he’d given her no pleasure at all. He’d always been sure to caress her until her body made itself ready. He’d been slow and careful, especially on their wedding night. Sure to make her wet and ease his way. But stroking the little pearl that made other women scream had only made Sarah a bit more relaxed.

Until last night.

Shifting, James looked again toward the open doorway, but she wasn’t there. A quick glance at his watch revealed the sad truth that he could tarry no longer. A meeting with this new incarnation of his wife would have to wait.

“Damn,” he cursed as he folded his paper and snapped it shut. He’d wanted to see her. Kiss her good-bye. See if her eyes shone a little more brightly when she spied him. But he’d not wake her. After last night, she needed her sleep.

James couldn’t help his smile as he took his hat from the butler—more slowly than strictly necessary—checked the stairway one last time, and reluctantly took his leave.

* * *

Sarah didn’t wake fully aware of the night before. No, her head felt a bit achy and her throat raw with thirst when sunlight finally woke her. She was snuggling into her pillow to escape the discomfort when the first inkling of what she’d done hit her. Hand pressed to her chest, she sat bolt upright and inhaled as much air as would fit in her lungs.

She was stark naked.

“Oh, good Lord.”

The memories weren’t exactly crisp, but they were vivid nonetheless. She’d moaned and writhed. Shuddered and scratched. A stray cat howling for a tom. And then . . . then she’d had some sort of fit. A screaming, jerking fit.

“Oh no,” Sarah sobbed, pressing both hands to her mouth. What must her husband think? Eyes rolling, she scanned the room, but saw no sign of him. When her gaze caught sight of the small clock on the mantel, her shoulders collapsed. It was nearly ten. He’d left for work long before. She would not see him for hours, and she couldn’t help but be thankful, disloyal as that seemed.

She fell back to the pillows and pulled the coverlet up to her nose. What in the world had happened to her? The wine perhaps, except her strange mood had started earlier, so much worry and restlessness. And then . . . when her husband had touched her, something had . . . come to life inside her body. Something hot and trembling. Something almost
hungry.

A groan escaped her throat, scaring her almost as much as her thoughts. If there was a beast inside her, lurking in her deepest soul, she knew what it must be. Her secret. Her family’s secret.

Sarah set her teeth and swallowed hard. She wasn’t a woman prone to dramatics. James had hardly seemed alarmed, from what she could recall. He had seemed . . . What?
Encouraging?
But he did not know the truth. She had not
told
him the truth. So she could not depend upon him to know whether her paroxysms were a normal phenomenon or a sign of worse to come.

In truth, she had heard her own mother cry out like that on occasion. Usually when the doctor would go in and shut the door for her treatments. Then, afterward, her mother would weep, sometimes for days.

Knowing full well that time spent lying in bed would only mean more worry, she dug her nightgown from beneath the sheets and twisted and wiggled until she had it on. Then she rang for a bath. By the time the clock struck eleven and she found herself staring down at the congealing breakfast on her plate, Sarah knew what she must do.

Though the housekeeper was a slightly terrifying presence, Sarah forced herself to calmly request the woman’s attention in the morning room. It took her approximately two minutes to quench her suddenly dry mouth, wipe her fingers, and rise to make her way to the morning room. The housekeeper was already there, awaiting her.

“Oh, Mrs. Baylor. Such a prompt response.” Sarah could not understand how Mrs. Baylor could be quite so round and still move more swiftly than a startled mouse.

“Yes, ma’am. Would you care to review the menus this morning, then?”

“No, I think the schedule is going splendidly. You run this house with great efficiency.”

Mrs. Baylor waited, eyes darting toward the door as if she’d like to be off to see to other duties.

“Well, then,” Sarah chirped. “I am running a few errands today, and I should like to steal one of the maids away. Could you spare Betsy, do you think?”

“Betsy? Which Betsy, ma’am? There are two.”

Sarah blinked. Two? Lord, she thought she had planned so well. One of those Betsys couldn’t read even the simplest words. Sarah knew this because she’d heard the girl explain to Mrs. Baylor why she couldn’t fetch a certain spice from the larder one evening when Sarah had been trying to teach them the recipe for her grandmother’s spiced cakes. Sarah needed
that
girl.

She cleared her throat. “The, um, the Betsy with the curly brown hair that sneaks from her cap?”

“Aye, I’ve spoken to her about that, ma’am. I’ll—”

“The hair is fine. Only can you spare her?”

“Of course.”

Sarah nodded and smiled past her pounding heart. “Wonderful. I shall be ready in half an hour. Please notify the footman that I will require a hack.”

The moment Mrs. Baylor quit the room, Sarah rushed to the writing table and drew a piece of paper from the drawer. After staring at the blank page for at least ten minutes, she took the pen into one shaking hand and scratched out three lines. She did not sign it, only dried it carefully and folded it into a tight, neat square.

The rest of her preparations took no time at all, and before the half hour was up, she and Betsy were in the coach and on their way.

The shop was less than a mile from the house, but Sarah rarely patronized it. The owner was her least favorite of the nearby book merchants, he being more interested in science and politics than “those dreadful novels,” as he called them. An arrogant bore in Sarah’s opinion, but he might prove useful today.

As soon as the hack creaked to a halt before the store, Sarah pressed the note into Betsy’s hand, along with a generous fistful of coins. A few simple instructions later, and she was alone in the coach, still rocking from Betsy’s jarring descent.

She stared at the opposite cushion, hands clenched tight together, and waited. Minutes dragged by. She thought about James. Wondered if he was thinking about her. Perhaps the night had meant nothing to him. Perhaps it had been like any other. Nodding to reassure herself, Sarah took a look at the door of the shop.

Nothing.

Had the bookseller grown suspicious? Was he even now questioning the maid? Surely he couldn’t object to the request.

Could he know it was from a woman? Would he report her to her husband?

A flutter of panic was just beginning to rise in her throat when the door to the shop flew inward. Pressing her fingers to her mouth, Sarah held her breath until a familiar skirt appeared above the threshold.

Betsy stepped out, mouth set in a serious line as befit a kitchen maid elevated to a temporarily important status. She didn’t look scandalized or titillated, only determined. When she saw Sarah watching, she broke into a smile, then remembered herself and smothered it.

“’E drove a hard bargain, ma’am, but I got him down to four quid!” She was proud of herself, regardless that she had no idea how much her package should have cost, but Sarah thought four quid a good bargain and told her so.

The maid kept the paper-wrapped bundle close as she alighted, and though Sarah wanted to snatch it from her, there could be no reasonable excuse to do so. Still, she stared anxiously at the brown paper as Betsy settled it on her lap and wrapped her chapped fingers around the string.

Sarah’s answer might be inside that brown paper, just inches from her hands. Had last night been a fit? A sign that her mother’s tainted blood had been passed to her? If so, she would have to tell James a truth too horrible to consider . . . that she might pass on the illness she’d hidden to his children.

The palms of her white gloves were soaked with perspiration by the time the hack delivered them back to the Hood door. When they entered, Betsy moved to carry the books to the library, but Sarah touched her elbow.

“I will take those,” she said too loudly, then managed a smile when Betsy jumped in shock. “Thank you, Betsy. You were a great help to me today.” Heart beating too hard to hear the maid’s reply, Sarah wrapped her arms around the books and spun to run up the stairs.

“Sarah?” a deep voice called, interrupting her retreat. The tone and timbre of that voice spread icy fingers over the skin of her back. Her knees locked and she nearly pitched forward onto her face.

“Sarah?” James’s voice repeated from only a few feet behind her. Clutching her guilt tighter to her chest, Sarah tried hard to breathe.

She was caught.

* * *

When his wife turned toward him, James felt no small amount of alarm at her pallor. He was actually reaching out to catch her when her lips trembled into a smile.

“James, you surprised me. Whatever are you doing home at this hour?”

He frowned. “Are you quite well, my dear?” He started to ease his hand beneath her elbow, but she shifted away, drawing his eye to the package she held.

“I am fine. I was only out to . . . I only just . . .”

He smiled. “More books, darling?”

“I . . .” Her eyes fell. “Yes,” she whispered. “Books.”

“Come.” He slid his hand over her shoulder and curled his fingers to touch the back of her neck, shocked at the way her skin played havoc with his nerves. But shock didn’t stop him from lowering his mouth to her forehead. He let himself breathe her in for a bare second before he pulled away. “You may buy as many novels as you like. We have a library to fill, after all.”

Her eyes filled with tears.

“Sarah,” he said on a nervous laugh. “Pray do not look at me as if I were a monster.” As soon as he said the word “monster” it occurred to him that maybe her upset had nothing to do with books and everything to do with last night. Horror froze his blood to a sluggish crawl. Had he hurt her? Frightened her? His stomach fell to his feet.

His wife shook her head and tried to blink the tears away. “Of course not. You are so good to me. Always.”

Helpless and confused, he dropped his hand from her neck, though he clenched his fingers to hold her warmth captive. “I thought perhaps we could take luncheon together. Have I upset you too much to join me?” What he’d actually thought was that they might use luncheon as an excuse to flirt. He’d hoped to tease a blush to her cheeks, hoped that the memory would keep him company for the rest of this interminable day. Now he only hoped not to hurt her tender feelings.

Sarah took a deep breath and squared her shoulders. Against him?

“I would love to dine with you, James. I was only overset by a headache this morning. Please forgive me.”

“Of course!” he answered. Of course, she’d suffered a headache. His wife did not often indulge in too many glasses of wine. “If you are ill, I will leave you to your rest.”

“No, stay! Please stay. I only need a moment.”

Before he could offer even a small bow, she’d whirled away and started up the stairs, arms still clutching her package. James watched her go, tracing her small waist with his eyes.

Her delicate femininity had inspired his protectiveness from the moment they’d met. Whenever she was near, he felt larger. Stronger, somehow. But today, for the first time, he felt like a clumsy oaf with hands far too big to handle a creature as beautifully fragile as his wife.