Lord Lightning (6 page)

But even so, her hope-filled words had cooled his enthusiasm for what must come next. She would not find love with him, no matter what she saw written in the stars. He was not capable of it, and only a very foolish virgin would have been so naïve as to admit to a libertine like himself that love was what she hoped to find in their upcoming tryst.

It reminded him forcibly of why he avoided virgins.

But things had gone too far now for him to stop without looking like a fool himself. So it was time to get it over with.

He stood up and walked over to the sideboard. In a moment he had filled a second glass with brandy and brought it to where she sat so stiffly on the edge of the bed.

She took it willingly, though as her small fingers brushed his when she reached for the glass, he realized they were ice cold. He was about to warn her to drink the brandy slowly and to savor the delicate aroma, but before he could say a word, she slugged it down as quickly as he had drunk down his.

Her swallow terminated in a choking sound, followed by a violent fit of coughing. He reached
his arm around her shoulders and pounded on her back until the coughing stopped.

“You’re supposed to sip it, not suck it down like a sailor guzzling grog.”

“But that was what you did. I only followed your example.”

“Well that should teach you not to. Don’t you know I’m famous for setting a very bad example?”

The girl smiled, rather charmingly. Then she sank back against the pile of thick pillows that furnished the bed.

She looked so odd lying there amid the pillows on which he had entertained some of the most beautiful—and wanton—women in the kingdom. But it was not just her modesty that made her different from them. He struggled to define what it was. Then it struck him. It must be that ridiculous spinster’s cap of hers—the first object of that kind to ever have made its appearance in his bed.

As if she had read his thoughts she raised a hand to her cap, though after she touched it she stopped. “Would you prefer I remove my cap?” she said, uncertainly. “Is that customary?”

“Quite.” As was much else she would soon discover. “It does look rather uncomfortable with all those pins.”

“It is. The pins dig into my head. But such caps are meant to be uncomfortable. They are the very soul of propriety.”

“Then you must remove it directly. Too much propriety is likely to send me into a fit of sneezing. I am quite allergic to it.”

He was relieved to see her smile, and even more relieved when she tilted her head toward him and let him pull out the pins that affixed the cap to her hair. When he had removed it, he placed it gingerly on the table beside the bed. If only it turned out to be as easy to divest her of the rest of her garments.

Without the cap her hair was surprisingly thick and lustrous. He leaned toward the candelabra and pinched out all but one flickering flame. Then, gazing at her with his most smoldering look, he murmured, “Your eyes are beautiful in the candlelight.”

It was meant to be mere moonshine, but as the words left his mouth, he realized, with some surprise, that they were true. Her eyes were striking—large, green, and luminous—though disturbingly intelligent. He could see in them, too, the effort she was making to control her fear.

“There’s no need to be frightened,” he assured her. “You will experience only pleasure at my hands. And if there should be some unexpected consequence of our connection, you may rest assured I will open my purse generously to deal with it.”

He felt a burst of self-satisfaction. That was far more than his brother had done for any of the women he had impregnated. But he quickly suppressed that thought. It would not put him into the mood he needed to establish.

Next he reached out and gently pulled the remaining pins from the girl’s hair. It broke free
from the tight knot in which she had confined it and tumbled across the linen pillowcase. The river of thick curls, no longer carroty, glowed auburn in the dull light of the single candle.

He stroked one curling lock on the pillow where it had fallen, delighting in the springy feel of it. It was so clean, so silken. Then he let his fingers walk up the long tress, following it upward to her nape, which he stroked with a slow, soothing motion, until he saw her relax and nestle deeper against the pillow. Her skin was warm and velvety. He let his fingers brush across the softness of her lips. Then he raised her hand to his own mouth and slowly, teasingly, kissed the tip of each finger. As he did, he noted with surprise the eagerness with which she reached out to feel the texture of his lips. Carefully he let his tongue come out to greet her fingertip. Then, imprisoning her finger with his lips, he sucked it into a kiss. The sensation that filled him as her delicate skin met his searching tongue was far more stimulating than something so innocent should have been.

A wave of desire swept over him. By Gad, he wanted her! But even as he felt himself respond, her finger hesitated and withdrew, warning him to slow down. There were new delights to savor here.

Yes,
a voice murmured in his mind,
the delights of despoiling innocence.

He ignored it. She knew what she was in for when she agreed to come here with him. There was no need for conscience to interfere. Innocent
or not, she was just another woman, fickle and greedy like the rest, babbling of love as they all did before they got their claws into a man. So what if she was a virgin? They all started out that way, but they got over it. Why should he care if she imagined their coupling might lead to love? He’d teach her something about love—about the hot piercing pleasure to be found in merging bodies, and when she learned it she’d become like the rest of the cold, hard women who sought him out and then abandoned him.

Yet he was unnerved by the gentleness of her hand, which now stroked his stubbled cheek. Her probing fingertips brushed over his lips, stroked the indented place in the center, then brushed the side of his nose before moving upward to the smooth place on his cheek where no beard grew, touching, learning, and making it clear she had never before, ever, touched a man.

He suppressed another qualm. Why make all this fuss about her innocence? There was nothing shy now about the way her caressing hand was making its exquisite way down his neck, to his shoulder and the opening of his collar, sending shivers of pleasure down his spine. Her fingers rested briefly on the tuft of pale blond hair that rose beneath his throat, and combed through it gently, before she reached down to the first fastened button of his shirt and stopped.

His own hand shaking now, he reached up and gently undid that button and the next, allowing his shirt to fall away and leave his chest naked.
Her hand dropped and she let him take control again, but her huge green eyes kept drinking him in. There was a haziness to them now. Their clarity had been replaced by something more dreamy. The brandy must be taking effect.

Taking direction from the way she’d just touched him, he let his hand glide gently down her cheek and along her neck to her shoulders and arm. He felt the tiny hairs on her biceps rise in response to his feather-light touch.

There were buttons on her bodice, too. When he undid them one by one, she made no protest. He slid one hand under the loose shift that was revealed and pushed the thin fabric of the shift aside. To his surprise, she wore no stays. He made the most of that discovery, cradling the rounded breast he found beneath. It barely filled his hand, but though it was so much smaller than Violet’s luxuriant orbs, it was firmer and delightfully resilient; her rosy nipple was surprisingly beautiful, too, domed and swollen.

She gave a little sigh. He reached further inside her shift, brushing along her torso, his fingers dancing toward her soft mound of nether curls. As he felt them spring against his fingertips, he wondered if they were as fiery as her hair, but his attention was wrenched away from such speculation as he felt her hips rise to meet his exploring hand. Emboldened, he pulled her closer with his other arm and pressed the length of his body against hers, letting her feel for the first time what he had in store for her. But as his swollen manhood
rubbed against her abdomen, she tensed and jerked away from him, and he saw what must be fear flash in her eyes. It was replaced a moment later by the most disturbing look of trust.

He stilled, then drew back, aware again of what he was taking from her.

But it was too late for regret. She’d gotten what she wanted and she’d pledged him this in exchange. This breast was his to caress as long as he wanted. Her thighs were his to kiss, to suck, to crush beneath him.

More roughly than he had intended, he pushed her shift aside again and seized her rosy nipple in his mouth, flicking his tongue against the swollen flesh. A ripple swept through her body. He hoped it was passion. He feared it was shock.

As he hesitated, she stirred beneath him and moaned.

“Lord Hartwood—” she began, reminding him she didn’t know his Christian name. No matter. Whatever she had to say, he didn’t want to hear it. He touched his mouth to hers, silencing her with a kiss. Then he reached his hand back inside her shift and let his fingertips trace designs on her abdomen, gentling her. He heard her breathing quicken.

Louder this time she said, “Lord Hartwood, I need—”

His lips closed on hers again. He would give her what she needed. As if by accident he let his fingertips brush against her womanly nub, pleased when she writhed against him. He was surprised
to find her already swollen and surprisingly wet. He longed to bury his face there and fill himself with her scent, but he held himself back, not wishing to scare her. Carefully he extended one finger into the opening of her secret passage. But the little gasp she gave as his searching fingers prodded more deeply was not a gasp of pleasure.

He stopped. He lifted his head, his eyes locked into hers, and he saw the shock that registered there.

Her eyes betrayed her. She had learned, at last, what manner of man he really was. Though she would go through with it and live up to her side of their bargain, he knew, as clearly as if her voice had whispered the words, she regretted making that bargain.

She gave a tiny gasp and her mouth started working. It would all come out now, her loathing and her disgust. He could not bear to hear it. He must silence her the only way that was left to him. He must fill her with himself and forcibly make her his. He must corrupt her, give the beast within himself what it demanded, and be once again what he knew himself to be: selfish, irresistible, and damned.

But something held him back, something he’d thought had died in him long ago. Something that whispered he had sinned enough.

Filled with dread, he pulled away from her and let her speak.

“I’m sorry to be such a ninny,” she began softly. “But this is all so unfamiliar. I … I never expected
to be a mistress so I haven’t studied the subject. And even if I had wished to study it, my aunt would never have let me read the sort of book that could have furnished me with instruction. The books I
have
read always stopped short of telling me exactly what it is that happens next.”

A wave of laughter swept through his body, replacing the dismay that had filled him only a moment before.

“So that’s it?” he choked out. “You would like to study up on the subject before we proceed?”

“Well, of course. One likes to know what one is about. And this is so much stranger than what I had imagined.”

“It is, indeed,” he said. “It is, in fact, far stranger than anything
I
ever imagined.”

But as true as that was, with an odd sense of relief, he realized it was over and that it had ended far better than he would ever have imagined it could. To be sure, there was still an ache in his manhood, an echo of the lust that had overpowered him only a few moments before. But the blackness that had threatened to engulf him was gone. She had dispelled it with her ability to remain herself when he had been swept away. And somehow, by remaining herself, she had shone light into a place within him that had not known light before.

When he had recovered his ability to speak, he reached over and put his arm around her, sheltering her. He inhaled the delicate scent of her hair
and said, “I think we have both had quite enough learning for one night.”

Was it a look of disappointment he saw flit over her face? He could not credit it, yet that was what it looked like. But of course, she must fear he would hold back the payment he had promised her. He let his eyelids drift shut as he searched for words to reassure her she would not leave penniless when he sent her away the next morning, but his mind was moving slowly—the brandy perhaps, or perhaps the aftermath of his wrenching inner struggle. When he opened them again he realized no more words were needed. The brandy had had its effect on her, too, and his new mistress—the virgin—had dropped off, snoring quietly, into a faintly sodden sleep.

A
t dawn, Eliza awoke with a painful pounding in her head and in some confusion as to where she was. She lay beneath the covers of a huge satin-draped bed, clad only in her shift. On the wall across from the bed was a painting of scantily clad nymphs disporting themselves with a satyr. She had a fuzzy memory that on the previous night she, too, had disported herself in a manner not all that different from the nymphs. Indeed, as she grew more awake, it struck her that during the course of the night she must have become a fallen woman. But try as she would, she could not remember the details.

She remembered drinking the fiery brandy that had burnt her throat and set up a strange buzzing in her head. She remembered Lord Hartwood coming into the bed with her and the gentle way
he had taken her hand and allowed it to explore his body. She remembered, too, the surprising discoveries she’d made as he’d explored her body, before she’d become frightened and gasped out something—anything—to postpone whatever it was that was about to happen. But after that she remembered nothing. Nothing at all.

She shuddered. Perhaps what had followed had been so horrible she had had to blank it out to remain sane. She had heard of such things happening. But somehow, remembering how Lord Hartwood’s soft lips had felt on her fingertips and how gently he had caressed her bosom and so much more in that shocking but surprisingly delicious way, it was hard to believe that something so terrible had followed.