Nicholas: The Lords of Satyr (16 page)

“However, I think we must first have a conversation regarding certain particulars of the matter. I imagine you have no idea what a man requires—that is, what a mistress’s duties entail. And I fear the actuality of those duties might send you into a faint.”

She smiled uncertainly as they walked side by side along the sun-dappled path. “Are you willing to dispel my ignorance if I promise not to swoon?”

“Are you certain you want me to? To do so, I must speak frankly,” he cautioned. “More frankly than a husband should speak to his wife.”

“Please. I’m anxious to know why a husband keeps both a wife and a mistress,” she said.

He seated her and then flung himself into a wicker chair opposite hers. It was a feminine chair, and he overpowered it with his masculinity.

“Generally speaking, a mistress is far more adept at exploring a gentleman’s passion than a wife,” he began in the manner of a professor instructing a student. “With a mistress, a man needn’t offer explanations or apologies for his appetites, no matter how carnal. He simply makes demands—physical demands,” he stressed meaningfully, “and his mistress undertakes to satisfy them. With every appearance of enjoyment and willingness he might hope for.” He fixed a stern eye on her.

“I see.” Her brow furrowed. “How does a mistress become so skillful at satisfying a gentleman?”

Heat pooled in his loins at her interest. “Through practice and instruction.”

“And are you willing to supply those?” she whispered. “To your wife?”

A silent moment passed in which the sound of birdcalls outside the garden gate seemed unnaturally loud.

Nick shifted uncomfortably, adjusting the lap of his trousers. “I appear to be warming to the idea,” he said ruefully.

Her eyes fell to the tremendous bulge that now strained the fabric at his crotch. She glanced away.

Observing her shyness, his contemplation of her grew more overt. He wove his fingers together across his chest and arrogantly splayed his thighs so his arousal became impossible to overlook.

“You’ve made me stiff with your insistent questions. Now what, Jane? How will you offer me relief?”

She flushed but forced herself to look him in the eye. “What do you mean exactly?”

His dark chuckle heightened her interest. “It’s wifely to blush and stammer at such plain speaking. However, if you were my mistress, you would recognize my words as your cue.”

“I don’t know what to do,” she admitted. “Please—it’s embarrassing.”

He straightened, easing the tension between them. “Then I suppose lessons are in order.”

A spark of interest lit her eyes, and she slanted him a glance from beneath her lashes. “Will you truly teach me such things?”

His eyes narrowed on her with a masculine appraisal that seemed to understand more of her body than she did. That he was privy to a wealth of sexual knowledge he would soon share with her was exciting and a little frightening.

“Let’s both consider the matter further. If you find you still wish to proceed, we’ll begin your instruction tonight.”

As he withdrew from the solarium, it briefly occurred to Nick that his garden had never looked finer.

T
hat night Jane sat across from her husband in one of his carriages, toying with the strings of her reticule. They were due at a dinner dance being held by a business acquaintance of his in Florence in half an hour, but their carriage was currently proceeding at a snail’s pace behind a donkey cart.

Nick scrutinized her dispassionately for the first few minutes of the drive. It startled her when he finally spoke.

“What have you decided, wife? Do you still wish to act in my mistresses’ stead?”

Their carriage suddenly found its way around the cart and picked up speed in time with her heart.

She shot a nervous glance at him and nodded. “Yes.”

“Are you certain, Jane?” he asked gently. “We can forget this afternoon’s conversation entirely and continue as we were. It’s what most married couples of our station do for the whole of their lives.”

Strangely, his willingness to release her from their bargain strengthened her resolve to see it through. “But it’s not what I want.”

“Then I may proceed in instructing you in the many ways you might best attend to my sexual proclivities? Consider carefully. I won’t be pleased to find you swooning and screaming over any forthcoming intimacies you deem repellent.”

She didn’t bother to mention she could hardly scream if she were engaged in the act of swooning. More to the point, she asked, “Are you trying to frighten me away from the attempt?”

“No, only to warn you of the daunting nature of the task you seek to undertake. Many of my requests will surely shock you,” he said. His gaze dropped lower. “And your body.”

“Perhaps you could make a list of your requirements and I could consider them one by one,” she proposed logically. “Then we could negotiate them beforehand.”

He looked amused. “I think not.”

A thought occurred to her. “Am I—? Is a mistress allowed to refuse a particular suggestion posed by her—?”

“Her lover?” he supplied. “I can only state that no mistress has ever refused to attend me in whatever manner I required of her. However, if she were to find an act painful without pleasure attached, I would certainly want to know.”

“And if she informed you she was having such difficulties?” Jane posited.

“I would attempt to make the act in question more enjoyable for her,” he said.

“And if you couldn’t and she refused your suggestion altogether? Would you move on to a more accommodating mistress?” she asked.

“As I say, such a scenario hasn’t occurred to date,” he hedged.

“Still, it strikes me as eminently logical to discuss these whims of yours beforehand,” she continued. “That way I might point out any ideas not to my liking, thus saving us both future embarrassment.”

He chuckled. “I promise I won’t be embarrassed at anything we do together of a carnal nature. And I suggest you not reject any of my ‘whims’ out of hand. Some won’t be to your liking initially but may prove enjoyable upon experience and repetition.”

“I see.” She opened her mouth to continue her line of questioning.

He made a slicing gesture with his hand. The discussion was straining both his patience and the lap of his trousers beyond what was bearable.

“Enough talk. Tell me. What have you decided? Are we to proceed?”

Doubt assailed her. Her mind followed various avenues, but she could perceive no other possible way to reach his heart other than to play mistress. And she was curious.

She answered, breathless. “Yes.”

He raked her with a calculating gaze, and then his eyes hooded. Though he hadn’t moved, his figure suddenly seemed more compelling, the curve of his lips more sensual.

“Let’s see how well you mean it,” he murmured.

She was so mesmerized at the remarkable change in him she didn’t immediately take in his next words.

“You wear the English drawers, do you not? I wish you to remove them,” he instructed softly.

“What?” she asked, unsure she’d heard correctly. How did he know she wore drawers? Most women didn’t, but her mother had been modest and had raised her and Emma to do so.

“Take them off, Jane, and give them to me.”

“Now?” she asked in dawning horror.

“Quailing so soon in the game?” he taunted.

“No—but I hadn’t expected—”

His expression turned remote, and he angled his dark head away from her. Tilting a slat of the blinds with a finger, he glanced idly out of the carriage window as though her decision was of no consequence.

She realized he expected her to falter and shrink from the course she’d set. What’s more, he would allow her to do so without comment. He would continue to visit both her and his mistresses in distressingly different manners. Nothing would change between them.

His request wasn’t so terrifying, really, she reasoned in desperation. Her gaze darted around the carriage, irrationally searching for some screen behind which to disrobe. How far was it to the Cascardis’ now? What if there wasn’t time to fully remove her drawers? What if the carriage stopped and she was discovered with her underwear caught around her ankles?

She took a fortifying breath. Then, without giving herself time to debate further, she reached under her skirt.

She sensed when Nick turned his head to observe her, and she blushed, keeping her gaze averted.

Carefully arranging the drape of her dress to reveal as little of her elaborate undergarments as possible, she searched beneath the batiste petticoats. Her fingers fumbled and then found the ribbons at the waist of her drawers. She untied them blindly, the task made easy from years of practice. Lifting herself briefly off the bench seat of the carriage, she slid them off her hips. Hurriedly, she shoved the drawers down her legs.

They caught and clung around her ankles with obstinate willfulness. She watched the passing scenery outside the window with growing frustration, trying to determine how close they were to their destination.

With a final yank, she pulled the drawers over her slippers and off completely. Crumpling them into a haphazard bundle, she tucked them on the seat beside her so they were well hidden beneath the folds of her skirts.

Pleased with herself for having met his challenge, she shot him a triumphant look.

He smiled at her in lazy approval, possibly the most genuine smile he’d sent her way thus far in their relationship. He lifted an aristocratic hand and beckoned. “Now fold them neatly and give them to me.”

She shrank away, suspicious, clutching the wadded drawers tight to her thigh. “Why?”

“Because I wish it.” His hand opened, waiting.

After a long moment, she reluctantly withdrew the fragile garment from its hiding place. Quickly she folded it and passed it to him.

His opaque eyes watched her as he toyed with the intimate garment, feathering it lightly back and forth across his cheek and immobile lips, enjoying the texture.

She told herself he was absurd. Told herself to look away from him. But she couldn’t quite manage it.

“Draw your skirts higher.”

She looked toward the carriage window uncertainly. Countryside was yielding to cityscape. “I had thought my lessons would be conducted in the confines of our bedchamber.”

“They’ll take place where I decide,” he informed her. “When I decide.”

Unable to resist finding out what he might suggest next, she tugged her skirt to reveal her ankles.

He flicked his fingers, indicating she should pull it higher.

Uncertain of what he expected, she tugged again. A few more inches of her calves were revealed.

“Above your knees,” he ordered.

Annoyed, she yanked the skirts until they bunched on her thighs. “Is this high enough? Or shall I throw them over my head?”

His smile flashed. “An intriguing suggestion, but that won’t be necessary for now.” Sitting forward, he wedged a knee between hers and rocked it side to side, nudging her legs apart.

She put both hands on his knee, and he allowed her to stay him. “What are you doing?” she whispered.

“Opening you. I wish to view the place where I come inside you.”

Here? In the carriage? Jane couldn’t have been more shocked. Suddenly the task of dealing with her husband’s sexual proclivities loomed daunting before her.

“Can’t this wait until we return home?” she pleaded faintly.

“You may argue as you will about other matters but not regarding your instruction as my mistress.”

Slowly Jane released her hold on his knee. Sitting back, she slid her feet and then her knees apart.

“More,” he instructed.

She took a fortifying breath, then parted her legs wide. Cool air wafted beneath her skirts to find her most private flesh.

She’d never been so embarrassed in her life.

“Touch yourself.”

“What?” She inched farther back. Had he guessed what she did when he left her room each night?

“Here. Like this.” He leaned forward and brushed a finger through her pubic hair.

Instinctively she closed her legs, capturing his wrist. Their eyes caught and held.

In truth, she could benefit by his instruction in this. She’d never yet succeeded in coercing herself into convulsing without first having him copulate with her. Was such a thing possible?

“I take it you want to curtail your position as my mistress?” he asked.

She gave a negative shake of her head.

He quirked a brow.

Hesitantly she released his hand and allowed her legs to sprawl.

He braced them wide with his knees and then shook one of her hands from its death grip on her skirt. Her teeth tugged at her lower lip as he stroked her fingers through the crisp thatch of hair, playing. He circled her finger over her clit. Once.

Twice. Softly. A shiver of forbidden excitement trilled through her.

She closed her eyes to distance herself from what was happening. But this only increased her susceptibility to the titillation. Shifting her hips, she found herself riding her hand, cupped in his.

Two fingers pushed inside her, one his, one hers. They rocked her, simulating the motion of coitus. Moisture seeped from her inner cave, easing the inexorable ingress and egress, ingress and egress.

The rumble of his voice reached her, urging her on.

“Is it good, Jane?”

Ummm.

He angled their hands in a new way that exposed her clit to the rub each time their joined fingers intruded. “Tell me.”

“Oh, no,” she moaned. Her tissues tingled. It was going to happen—! That thing. That glorious thing.

The carriage lurched. Nick glanced outside and then drew their hands away from their task. When her eyes opened, he was wiping his fingers and hers with his pristine handkerchief. He stroked it over her slit, cleansing away that shameful moisture.

“Alas, we must call a halt,” he told her. “You don’t want to arrive at the Cascardis’ smelling of sex.”

“Hush,” she hissed, pushing him away. She slammed her legs together, and shoved her skirts to her ankles. Her flesh tingled with frustrated wanting. Appalled, she ignored it.

She craned her neck to stare out the window, her thoughts swirling madly. “How close are we?”

“I believe you were
quite
close.”

He dared make sport of her? “My drawers. Return them to me,” she demanded.

He held them out of her reach and brushed them over his cheek, shameless. “They smell like you. Warm and sweet.”

Her gaze flicked to the scenery passing outside and back to him. A wife would scold him. But, tonight, she was a mistress. She tried to take his behavior in stride, keeping her voice level as she sought to reason with him.

“Please, Nick,” she implored. “I see lights ahead. We’re almost there.”

He glanced out the window. “So we are,” he agreed. Before she could react, he unhurriedly tucked her garment under the seat cushion beside him.

She gaped in disbelief. “Why ever did you do that?”

“Because I prefer you without them. It’s more expedient for my purposes as your lover if your…womanly charms…are readily accessible.” A knock sounded on the carriage door, and Jane jumped.

“Ah! We’ve arrived,” Nick announced. He alighted from the carriage, obviously in good humor at having gotten his way.

Half dazed, Jane stared at the cushion under which her drawers were concealed. She could grab them, hide them in her purse until such time as she could slip away and…Her hand reached.

“Come along, my dear,” said Nick, turning to help her out.

Reluctantly she took the masculine hand that had so recently been between her thighs and stepped outside.

“You aren’t to wear drawers again unless I specifically request it,” he informed her when she drew close.

She pulled away to see his expression. “Are you jesting?” she returned in horrified fascination.

“I assure you I’m not.” He settled her on the pavement and gave her buttocks a surreptitious squeeze.

“Stop that!” she scolded, nodding to indicate that there were onlookers.

He merely smiled and slid a hand to her waist, ushering her up the steps to the villa.

The lace and embroidery stitching on her petticoat delicately abraded the skin of her bare bottom and legs where they were exposed above her gartered stockings. The tender void high between her thighs pulsed with each step, begging for relief. She longed to bury her hand there. Or his. Both. His phallus. Something!

“Later,” he whispered.

Then heavy doors swung open, and they were swallowed into the awaiting gaiety.