Royal Regard (39 page)

“White or a color? Silk or linen? Ribbons or
tatting? Buttons or laces?” He ran the tip of his tongue along the
whorl of her ear as he asked, “How many layers between my hand and
your thigh?”

She choked, “You certainly have intimate
knowledge of women’s undergarments.”

“I will have intimate knowledge of yours once
you have told me what they look like.” When he slipped the sleeve
of the siren’s gown off her shoulder, he was sure Bella thought he
wouldn’t make her say it, but he took the strap of her chemise with
the dress; her shoulder was completely bared, and he still had no
idea what color the slip might be.

“It is white—” she gasped when his mouth
brushed her collarbone. “—linen.”

Her face could be no warmer than the rest of
her body, and her voice low and husky in a way he had never heard
before. Her eyelids fell as he followed the curve of her shoulder
with his lips, placing soft kisses on every inch of skin as he
bared it.

“With ribbons,” she added, as he reached the
sleeve and slowly moved across the neckline toward her breast.
“Very like a debutante.”

“Very like an untouched maid I will soon
despoil.” He separated her chemise strap from the gown, and ran his
tongue along the ribbon woven into the fine linen. “Pink.
Perfect.”

Her antique-gold hair was falling, so he
slowly removed the pins, running strong fingers through the
straight locks, tangling the fine mass that fell past the middle of
her back, tugging her head back for another series of passionate
kisses.

His shoulders seemed to be her life raft as
she drank him in like the last water left in England. When he
loosened the buttons holding her bodice closed, she pushed herself
toward him like a wave surging toward a pier. Chuckling, he kept
the two sides of her dress from falling completely open, baring
only the pink ribbon ties of her chemise. Through thick layers of
satin and linen and lace, he ran his thumb in circles nearer and
nearer the stiff peaks of her breasts and used his teeth to tug the
pink ribbon free of its knot.

“Oh!” she gasped. “Oh, Your Grace…”

He pulled one hand away and used the other to
steady her shoulder, delighted she was losing her equilibrium. “Ah,
ah. No more until you say my name.”

She tried to drag his hand to her breast
again, then his mouth to kiss her. Her whole body squirming, she
groaned when he placed his hands on the seat and said, “I could
kiss you all night, Bella, and that is all I will do if you call me
‘Your Grace’ again.” His fingertips trailed along her bared
shoulder underneath the chemise strap, under the neat edge of the
neckline. He grinned, “Was there something you wanted?”

“Oh, please, Nick, please.”

“There it is,” he murmured into her ear, and
gooseflesh erupted on her arms. “You cannot know how it arouses me
to hear.”

Tugging gently at her open bodice, he used
his teeth to remove the ribbon from her chemise. With each
movement, her gasps grew ever so slightly wispier, only gaining
volume and depth when he took her linen-covered nipple between his
lips, suckling gently, wetting the fabric, scraping his teeth and
rough tongue against the sensitive point. Pressing her slowly down
onto the velvet chaise.

Between arching herself toward him and
writhing against the sensation, the only way she stayed on the
chaise was his body keeping her there. This meant she was
unknowingly rubbing against him in ways that might end the
encounter long before he was ready. When he rubbed back, sliding
his aching manhood against her, even through fifty-seven layers of
fabric, her moans grew louder.

Sending up prayers of thanks to Charlotte
that Bella’s drawers had gone the same way as her corset, his hand
slid up under her pretty skirts. Nick’s fingertips found her inner
thighs slick and wet, a state probably completely foreign to her,
but which sent an electrical charge from his hands to his wild
imagination and then to his throbbing groin. He shifted his mouth
to her other breast, tickling the tender flesh around her nipple
until her hands took hold of his hair and forced him to fulfill the
tease.

Far be it from him to deny a lady.

Before she could object, he pushed the dress,
chemise, and thin petticoat up over her bared thighs. Taking half a
moment to run the palms of his hands from her ankle to her knee, he
murmured, “The most beautiful legs I have ever seen. Your ankles,
Bella…your ankles have been driving me mad.”

Slipping her shoe off, then untying her
garter and pulling her stocking free, he placed her foot on his
shoulder and moved his mouth to her bared calf. She tried to
struggle away from the indecent position, but by the time his
open-mouthed kisses reached the back of her knee, her head fell
back against the chair. Her struggle to keep her groaning to a
quieter whimper made him long to loose a scream.

“Your knee, your thigh. I have wanted to
taste your thighs since the night we met.” His mouth moved with
purpose from one landmark to the next. At her inner thigh, she
again began to writhe, more so when he moaned against her, his
tongue tip gathering her nectar.

“You can’t! It is not—”

“It is heaven, my love,” he growled, rubbing
his cheek against the tender flesh between her leg and her feminine
treasures.

As his tongue slipped against her folds, her
voice turned to a high-pitched keen and she fell back as the breath
left her body, all objections lost. Bronze tresses tangled behind
her head as she twisted against him, flailing hands finally finding
purchase in his golden strands. When she pulled, he responded by
lashing her sweet flesh harder, demanding her pleasure reach a peak
she had never before known.

“Please, Nick. Oh, God, please.” The
inarticulate begging thrilled him. He knew she had no idea what she
asked, and he had never felt so proud of anything as satisfying
this need.

With his lips wrapped around the center of
her pleasure, his tongue mimicking the motions his cock had been
anticipating for months, he felt her body jerk toward him then
away, her wails and moans and rapid breath intertwined in a
tempestuous symphony of release. Hands at the ready, he kept her
pressed tightly to his mouth and tongue until the riotous thrashing
and shuddering fell quiet, then ceased, her fingers falling
motionless across the chaise.

Breathy whispers caressed his ears. “Oh—I—I
never—”

With one final, slow stroke of his tongue
against her, causing a quick spasm, his voice rumbled, “How pleased
I am to be the first.” As he moved back up her body, he pulled
more, softer shuddering and moans from her body, first one, then
two fingers keeping her desire hot. “Might I be the second, too?”
he asked.

“Second…?” her voice trailed off into a
near-sob while his free hand moved up her stomach underneath the
chemise, stopping only to caress her breasts with rough fingertips,
tease her nipples as he drove her higher. Her body rose to meet his
touch, instinctively learning to take control of her own pleasure,
not that she would need to in his bed.

Falling forward, one elbow braced against the
sofa, kissing her with a gentle touch of his lips tracing from the
corner of her mouth to her ear.

“I shall take you to my bedchamber now, my
dear, Blakeley be damned, so I may remove the pretty dress and
begin anew.”

“Anew…?” she sighed. “But I…”

Tugging her skirts down, he rose on shaky
legs, offering his hand to bring her to her feet, smugly assuming,
but not commenting, that her legs would likely buckle and he would
carry her.

Before she could rise or he could sweep her
into his arms, a loud tapping on the door stopped their movement.
They both stood as still as frightened deer, hoping to hear no
comment on the unseemly noise they had been making. After only a
moment, Bella straightened, eyes wide, and pulled her dress back
onto her shoulders, shaking hands trying to put her hair in
order.

“Your Grace?” Blakeley called out.

Nick stayed her nervous hand with his
own.

He was sure his servants, especially
Blakeley, would never be so foolish as to remark on his behavior.
Still, he had never before engaged in such activities in this
house. Nor had his brother, whose only affair was of long standing
with a widow who lived a few miles from Wellstone, or his father,
who would never think to bring one of his many lightskirts to a
home shared with his wife.

“Go away, Blakeley. There is nothing in the
world I need to address right this moment.” He whispered to Bella,
“But for you,” and she relaxed back onto the chaise again. Her
trust made his stomach flip but his heart melt another few
degrees.

“I’m afraid there is, Your Grace. I am
terribly sorry, but it cannot wait.”

“It will have to if you mean to keep your
position.”

“Please, Sir. You may discharge me presently,
but I really must insist you speak to me now.”

Nick whispered low in Bella’s ear, “No more
than five minutes. When I come back, I vow we shall finish in my
bed. This was only meant to whet your appetite, my love.”

He reluctantly pulled his fingers away, using
his handkerchief to tidy himself as best he could, which put a
blush on Bella’s face a brighter red than he had ever seen, so he
ran his hand down her cheek until she calmed. Buttoning his
high-waisted coat provided a semblance of orderliness, although it
couldn’t cover his still-rampant arousal. He threw open the pocket
door just as Blakeley was about to knock again.

“What is it?” he hissed.

Blakeley stepped back, so Nick followed him
into the hallway, shutting the door.

“Your Grace, I cannot express how sorry
I—”

“I am certain of that. Tell me what you want
so you need no longer apologize.”

“It’s the Earl of Huntleigh, Your Grace. He
has… slipped away. Lady Huntleigh’s maid is here to take her
home.”

Nick held himself up against the doorjamb.
“Dear God. Oh, dear God.” He ran his other hand through his messy
hair. “How am I supposed to go in there and tell her… right
now?”

There was no way Bella would ever overlook
him seducing her with her husband on his deathbed. She cared too
much for Huntleigh’s good opinion of her, so would feel the guilt
of this the rest of her days. If only the man had chosen better
timing. Nick could have waited the year of mourning if it meant he
would have her afterward, but this might put paid to even his best
intentions.

“She’ll never speak to me again.”

Blakeley straightened his shoulders and his
face tightened. “Your Grace, if you will show yourself to another
room, I will manage Lady Huntleigh.”

Nick patted Blakeley on the shoulder. “No,
old man, but thank you. I may regret it every day for the rest of
my life, but this is for me to do. If you would just make sure Lady
Huntleigh’s maid has her things, I’ll bring her downstairs in a few
minutes.”

He went back into the library, closing the
pocket doors very quietly behind him. After pouring a brandy at the
sideboard, he pulled a chair over to Bella and sat.

She was intensely shy again, having had a few
minutes to consider her conduct, and looked away, blushing the
bright pink he found so enthralling, matching the ribbons he had
just seen underneath her dress. Dragging himself back from his
wicked contemplation, he was more than a bit horrified at
continuing this line of thought when the woman’s husband was lying
dead a twenty-minute carriage ride away.

He handed her the drink, then ran his hand
through his hair, trying to think how to end her confusion without
breaking the connection that had finally seemed secure.

Hand steady on her shoulder, he requested,
“Bella, sweetheart, look at me. No, not at my shoes.” He took her
chin in his hand and tipped her face up. “Bella, it’s Myron. He’s…
gone to his reward.”

She yanked herself away. “What?! He was
perfectly well an hour ago! He told me himself to come here, though
I’m sure he didn’t mean for—oh, no. Oh, no.”

“I’m afraid he is not well now. Your maid is
waiting with your carriage.”

She stood and stumbled to the mantelpiece,
trying to arrange her hair by her reflection in the pier glass, but
unable to see through the tears welling up. He walked up behind her
and turned her into his arms, holding her against his chest as she
began to cry in earnest. At least he now had a vague idea what to
do.

“He can’t be—how could—”

“Hush, sweetheart. I can take care of
everything, but we must get you home. Here, let me tie your hair
up.” While she stared at him in the mirror with a broken-eyed
expression, he found a black ribbon in the drawer of his desk and
used it to pull Bella’s tangled hair back into a queue and hid it
under the back of her dress. Suddenly, she turned and looked at
him, then the chaise on which she’d been sitting. “Oh, no. I can’t
believe I—”

He took her hand and kissed it. “There is
nothing wrong with two friends having tea, my dear.”

“Tea?! Is that what you call it? Stay away
from me.” She backed away toward the door, face frantic.

“Bella, let me come with you.”

Her face and voice hardened in a way he had
never expected, had never even seen, no matter how angry she had
been. “You may call me Lady Huntleigh, and no, Sirrah, you will not
attend me again.”

He pulled himself up to his full height and
utilized his most intimidating ducal voice. “I am coming with
you.”

She responded with the tone that she had used
to get her own way with hostile provincials worldwide. “Absolutely
not. I will see you in Hell first.”

A light tapping on the door proved to be
Blakeley, whose hand had been forced by Michelle, following right
behind.

“
Madame
, you must come now. I have
your pelisse and have brought a hairbrush to make you tidy in the
carriage, but you must come before there are questions about where
you have been.” She turned very briefly to drop a shallow curtsey
in Nick’s direction. “Your Grace, please forgive the
intrusion.”