Temptress in Training (22 page)

Ah, yes, that was far better than conversation. She murmured something by way of encouragement, so his kiss continued. He shifted his weight onto one elbow and used his free hand to find the delicate silk edging of her costume, sliding his finger along it with just enough pressure to allow her breasts to spill out. Not that they'd been particularly contained. She'd fabricated the garment so that the stays would provide a tidy shelf to prop her bosoms up into what, she assumed, would be the most enticing—and tenuous—position with just the slightest slip of silk to cover them. Based on Lindley's reaction, she'd well accomplished that enticement goal.

Her bosoms thanked her. She sighed as the air hit them fully, causing her nipples to pucker. The sigh quickly turned to something more like a moan when Lindley's lips trailed from her neck down to a tingling peak.

Clearly her sounds and her arching provided the man more encouragement. He continued his oral worship of her nipple while at the same time he sent that blessedly free hand down to pass tenderly over her belly and then slide down to where the silk cords made a netlike pattern at her thigh. The sensation of his hand skimming over the mesh, brushing against her skin, was quite dizzying.

And of course there was no silk over that very sensitive place just at the juncture between her legs. He continued to let his fingers wander over her thigh, creeping slowly until they came dangerously close to that private area where no one had ever been. She squeaked when he brushed her there so gently she almost thought she had imagined it.

“If you are not ready at this point to send me back to my chair, then you simply must allow that we use first names, Miss Darshaw.”

She tried to answer but couldn't seem to find any breath. Lamely, she shook her head.

“No?” he said. “But you do seem to enjoy this, my dear.”

At “this” the man had the nerve to actually touch her.
There.
And yes, oh yes, she did enjoy it. Still, she could not speak, so all she could do was to shake her head.

He stopped touching her altogether. “Then I will go back to my chair.”

“No!” By God, she found her voice at that. She grabbed his arm. “Stay. Please.”

“Are you certain that's what you want, Sophie?” he asked, pushing back the strand of hair that had flopped in front of her face in her rush to keep him from leaving.

“It is, my lord,” she said.

He shook his head. “Then you must play by the rules, my dear. First names.”

“But I cannot!”

“Then I'm afraid it's the chair for me.”

“No, please. I want you to…to…well, I
want
you.”

She felt the heat rise to her cheeks. She was blushing. Heavens, what a thing for her to admit to him! Yet, she could hardly take it back. Besides, it was true. Lindley could certainly not have ignored the fact that she'd been pawing at him with a fervor that matched his own.

“And I am incredibly glad to hear it,” he said, leaning in to kiss her lips once more.

He tasted like every dream she'd ever held—and more. He tasted like all the things she had ever wanted and yet been denied, like something she would regret for a long, long time, yet she had no idea of giving him up just yet. The time for leaving would come soon enough. Right now, she let herself sink into his kiss and melt into his arms.

“Sophie,” he said in a voice full of air and of passion.

“My lord,” she replied the same way.

Now he pulled away again. In fact, his hands left her so quickly she fairly dropped back onto the bed.

“Damn it, we've moved beyond my bloody title!”

“But I…”

“When I call you by your first name, you are to return the favor,” he explained as if she were an ignorant child.

She rather felt like one. “I know, but I simply cannot!”

“Why? Because you can't forget that you're the daughter of a criminal, some little nobody who spent the last four years of her life in a bloody brothel? Do you believe I'm so full of myself that I don't care who's moaning under me in my bed? Or is it more? Perhaps you refuse to call me by my name because this is nothing more than your way of keeping me occupied while your father puts more and more miles between us. Perhaps you would find it easier to keep hating me if you refused to speak my name aloud in the throes of passion. Is that it, Sophie?”

“No! Truly, my lord, it isn't any of that. It's simply that…Er, there will be
throes
?”

“Of course there will be throes! Can you doubt that already?”

“Well, you know, of course, that women do talk to one another, and I did live in a brothel. It's just that my understanding is that these so-called throes are, er, optional.”

“You mean nonexistent.”

“Well, the gentlemen seem to experience them.”

“Of course they do. They're bloody pigs who go there to use those girls for their own pleasure and not care one jot whether it's pleasurable for them.”

“Er, you seemed to show up there quite frequently yourself, my lord.”

Perhaps she shouldn't have said that. His expression became hard and unreadable when she did. Drat, but she really, truly should not have mentioned such things. It was more than a little distressing to let herself think of Lindley spending time with any of the more sophisticated, competent ladies in Madame's employ.

“And have you ever heard any of Madame's ladies complaining after time spent with me?” he asked after a pause.

She thought for a moment. Actually, she could not precisely recall any of the ladies mentioning anything of their time spent with Lindley. She was not even aware which of Madame's lucky women had been afforded such a treat. Clearly those who had never saw reason to complain about it.

“No, my lord. I have not.”

He smiled at her. “Then you, my dear, have nothing to worry about tonight, do you?”

Oh yes, she most certainly did! She'd already discovered how remarkably easy it was to lose herself in this man's attentions. The night was still young and she was already beyond hope of regaining control over her emotions—or her behavior—where Lindley was concerned. Indeed, she had much to worry about.

“I'm not worried, my lord,” she lied.

“Then say my name.”

“I can't!”

He touched her face. “Why not, Sophie? Is it so very hard to see me as a man and not simply as a title?”

She would have answered him but he was kissing her again, searching her soul as his lips commanded hers. Once again, she was lost. She ran her fingers through his thick hair, dark as night and cut in the height of fashion. His shoulders were broad and firm. She moved her hands to grasp his coat, holding him as if he might disappear.

His kissing and caressing went on until she found herself breathless and aching for more. For a heartbeat she was aware of her position, the shameless way she arched herself against him and let all her sensitive parts be put out plainly on display. Normally she would have been self-conscious or appalled to find herself this way, but with Lindley touching her here and nuzzling her there, she found she could only wish he were as scantily clad as she was. Once again she reached for the trouser fastenings. This time he assisted, tugging at his shirt to release it from his trousers, loosening his cravat until it slipped off.

“Your coat, my lord,” she said, trying to help him with it.

The cut was so precise, so expertly done that it was no small feat for Lindley to slide his muscular arms from the sleeves. He did though, and when he pulled the shirt up over his head to reveal a torso that belonged more on a Greek god than an English gentleman, Sophie found herself completely at a loss for words. Yes, oh yes, she had much to worry about tonight.

Rather, she had much to worry about
tomorrow
when all this was in her past and Lindley's kisses and chiseled body were only a memory she might pull out on long, lonely nights full of fond regret and aching solitude. For now, however, this chiseled body was right here in front of her and, by heavens, she was going to take full advantage of that.

“You're smiling, Miss Darshaw.”

“I thought we were onto first names now, my lord.”

She realized what she'd said after she said it and cringed, waiting for him to demand she take her own advice. He did not, however, but merely laughed.

“Indeed we are, Sophie, and I'm determined we are to become better acquainted yet.”

Yes, she thought she might like that. She forced her eyes to leave his wonderful body and focus on his equally wonderful face. The man was perfect, and there was even an unexpected kindness showing in his eyes that helped ease the missish nervousness she still had lingering in the back of her mind. Madame was right; Lindley
did
know what he was about and he would make this encounter more than merely endurable. Sophie would have to remember to give her former mistress a huge thank-you for encouraging her to disgrace herself this way.

Lindley was content to take a moment or two just to gaze. Sophie was lying before him on the bed, her warm, rounded breasts exposed like two perfect pearls and her eyes glittering with passion. She was gazing at him, too. He saw the approval in her eyes as she studied him, took in his shoulders and his chest and anything else she chose to stare at. If his trousers had come off she'd have had a hell of a lot more to look at, too. He'd been hard and ready for her since the moment he left that blasted chair.

But now her eyes met his and he knew she was as ready as he was. It irked him that she would still refuse to call him by name, but he supposed he'd find a way around it. A mutually agreeable way. He'd
make
her call him by name. Indeed, the way the girl fairly panted for his touch and arched her delicious body toward his as he leaned in to hold her, he doubted he'd have to work very hard to get the response he wanted. She was more than willing; she was eager.

Which of course hinted that this was not her first foray into the world of sexual pleasures. He found himself somewhat annoyed by that but reminded himself that he should not be surprised. She'd not lived the protected life of a gently bred lady. She'd had to do what she could to get by, to grasp what bits of happiness she could when she had the opportunity. Apparently she'd grasped some before he'd come along. He should be thankful that she knew what was to come and looked forward to him with desire and excitement rather than virginal fear and trepidation.

Still, he would certainly do what he could to ensure she would always remember him as superior to any others.

He moved to her and began by kissing her between the breasts. Clearly she found this acceptable, so he continued, paying due respects first to one lovely breast and then to the other. She murmured and writhed all the while his fingers ran over her body, touching her and stroking her, enjoying learning their way around her. The tangled wisps of honey-colored hair at the juncture of her legs teased him, and he only hoped he'd be able to keep himself in control long enough to assure she would long think back to this night as the most enjoyable hours of her life.

She reached again for his trousers, but he put her off once more. At this point, he felt it might be better for both of them if he remained in them a bit longer. For far too many months he'd focused solely on his duty to justice. This impatient young woman was such a delightful change in pace for him that he half feared he would embarrass himself if he wasn't somewhat careful. Clearly, she had an even more profound effect on his person than he'd expected. He couldn't say he didn't like it, but he had to admit he wasn't entirely pleased with this desperate—and juvenile—need to impress her.

At the same time, however, he sure as hell was going to enjoy himself with this female. Whatever it was she did to him, he knew she was not the only one who would leave this bed with fond memories. When morning finally came and they were forced back into their lives, he suspected he'd be doing so with an impertinent smile on his face.

Reveling in the scent of her and the softness of her skin, he trailed his kisses down to that delicate navel. She was ticklish and giggled a bit as he paused there, then continued his exploration. He listened as her breath caught when he brushed the curling wisps of hair, then let one finger gently stroke the soft folds beneath. He moved lower so he could kiss her there, just above the most sensitive spot.

A slight tremor rolled over her body, and he felt the blood pound in his veins. She would respond to him easily, and he would certainly respond to her. He teased her with more caressing and tormented himself with more kisses. He wanted to taste her, to sample all of her, but he needed to take his time. They had all night, and he was determined to go slowly for her.

She was breathing in jagged little gasps, twisting her body to be more accessible to him. He was grateful for her efforts. The more she reacted to her desire, the more it stoked his own. He'd wanted her badly before; now the wanting blazed nearly beyond his control.

“You're so beautiful,” he said, dragging his ministrations away from her nether regions and reaching to coil that loose strand of blond hair at her slender neck around his fingers. “Eudora was a fool to let you leave her employ.”

Her only reply was a sigh. Then another gasp. Then a moan. His hand had gone back to her tender folds, and she was rocking against him, so close to her climax that he could almost feel it with her.

Damn it, he needed to feel it with her. Hardly skipping a beat, he undid his trousers. He'd hoped to take longer for her, to think more of her pleasure than his own, but his desire had gone far beyond wanting at this point. He needed to plunge himself into her and feel her around him, to ride the passion as she did. He needed her to become his.

Without warning he pressed her legs apart and pushed himself into her. God, but she was hot and wet and so damn tight. It was as if he'd never felt this before, never found fulfillment inside a woman until now. He gave up all pretense of self-control and lost himself in the overwhelming sensation.

He thrust himself deeper, pushing again and again, overcome at each movement by the wave that was building up, ready to crash over them at any moment. Part of him wanted to prolong the ecstasy, but the greater part of him drove harder and harder, desperate for release. Everything he'd ever needed was right here, surrounding him, sharing the same oxygen and begging him to…

It was too much. He gave up the fight as passion overwhelmed him and he collapsed onto her. Drawing in air and fighting to keep from crushing her, he groaned from the last waves of his climax. He felt himself pulsate into her, pouring his seed recklessly in a way he usually would not have allowed.

Always before caution had ruled his passions and he'd been careful with his partners. With Sophie he'd not been so diligent. He'd forgotten there could be consequences. Lord, but she'd been so amazing he had forgotten everything but her.

He leaned in and kissed her.

She moaned under him, and the sound was enough to set his blood pounding again. Ah, but he'd known all along there was something special about Sophie Darshaw, hadn't he? How fortunate they both were that there was still a long, dark night ahead of them.

Carefully, he moved to the side, propping himself on his elbow. He hated to pull out of her, to separate from such a blissful joining, but it was time to see to her comfort. He slid carefully away.

She moaned again. It was not the right kind of moan, either. He knew that because it was followed by something a bit like a whimper and something very much like a wince.

Oh God, was she in pain?

“Sophie?”

“Thank you, my lord. That was quite, er, nice.”

Nice?
That's how she would describe what had just happened between them?
Nice?
No, by heaven, it was a good deal better than
nice
.

Unless he'd been such a brute as to only care for how things had gone for him. Had he, perhaps, been a bit too quick? Had he, somehow, finished ahead of her and not thought twice about it? Lord, he suddenly hated himself.

“If you wish, we do not need to stop,” he offered, sliding his hand to the inside of her thigh. “If you'd like to continue, we could—”

“No, no!” she replied quickly, turning herself slightly away from him. “That was fine, my lord. Quite fine.”

But of course he knew it wasn't. Why was she not snuggling next to him, curling her body toward his and cooing into his ear? Why did she press her legs together, covering herself the way her daring little costume could not? He'd satisfied his share of women over the years, and none of them had ever behaved like this.

Damn, could it possibly be that this had been a disappointment for her?

“Sophie? What's wrong?” he asked.

She didn't reply but turned her head to face the wall on the other side of the room. He knew that meant trouble. Why he should care so much, he did not know. But he did care; he cared immensely.

He reached out to brush her cheek. “Tell me what it is, Sophie.”

“It's nothing, my lord.”

“Rubbish. It is something.”

“No, I'm fine.”

“You're not.”

“Of course I am.”

“You are not. You're crying.”

She didn't reply. He was right, though. He'd felt a teardrop on her cheek. He could see her body shudder as she struggled to hide whatever it was that tormented her.

“Please, Sophie. Talk to me. I can't stand to see you cry.”

“I'm sorry, my lord. I don't mean to.”

“But you are. What is it, are you hurt?”

There was a most disconcerting pause before she answered. “No.”

It was not convincing. Dear Lord, had he truly gotten so wrapped up in the moment that he lost control and actually hurt her? That was completely unlike him. He'd always prided himself on such things as self-control and caution. Had he really been such a brute as all that?

He'd meant to do nothing but give her the same measure of mind-numbing enjoyment he was finding. He wanted to amaze her, to satisfy her, not make her cry! Honestly, he was certain he hadn't gone beyond the bounds of generally acceptable bedroom behavior. How had he hurt her? It wasn't as if she'd been an untried virgin and he should have…

Oh no.
Realization slammed him as if he'd walked into a wall. By God, it was
exactly
as if she'd been an untried virgin, and he most certainly should have treated her far more gently than he had. She'd told him the truth when she said all she'd done for Eudora was sew. She'd been an innocent after all, and he'd treated her like…like…

He'd treated her like a whore.

No wonder she was crying. Despite the fact that her body indicated she'd much rather be left alone, he could not help but reach for her and gather her into his arms. She allowed it. He held her close and pressed a kiss into her silky hair.

“I'm told the pain does not last for long,” he whispered.

“I'm not in pain, my lord.”

“I don't believe you.”

“Well, there may be a small discomfort, but it's hardly noticeable.”

“So you would deny that you were a virgin?”

Another pause. “You could tell?”

He decided not to indict himself by answering that. “I should have believed you. I could have made it better for you.”

“
Better?
Oh, I very much doubt that, my lord. Truly, it was…spectacular.”

Well, he couldn't help but feel a bit smug at that. It wasn't every day a man's prowess was rated “spectacular.” But then again, if he'd been so very spectacular, why was Sophie crying?

And she was still crying; he could feel her sniffling. He would have loved to convince himself it was tears of joy for his spectacular performance, but something told him that was most likely not the case. She was genuinely upset, and for the life of him he couldn't imagine why.

“Come, Sophie, won't you tell me what it is?”

Now she shook her head. “Honestly, my lord, I don't—”

“You've forgotten the rules, my dear,” he interrupted, hoping a bit of levity might help her mood. He kissed her shoulder and held her tighter, too. “Certainly we've earned the right to first names by now.”

“Yes, I suppose so, my lord, but I—”

“Then say it.”

“I cannot.”

Botheration.
Why was the girl being so obstinate about this? He wanted to hear his name on her lips. How could it be asking so much of her?

“Why, Sophie?” he asked because he simply could not contain the admission. “I want to hear it. Why is it so impossible for you to speak my given name?”

Finally she replied, “Because I do not know it, my lord.”

Oh.
She did not know his name. Well, of course she would not. How would she? Unless she had asked Eudora after him, which he suddenly realized he was intensely disappointed that she clearly had not. Damn, why had he assumed she knew his name?

And here he had badgered her about it. Blast it, but he was a brute. The poor girl had given him her most precious asset and she hadn't even known his name. Well, he would give it to her.

He leaned forward, turning her so she would face him and bringing his lips close to hers. Indeed, he'd wanted his name on her lips. Now he would have it.

“Richard,” he breathed. “My name is Richard Durmond.”

He kissed her lightly, as chaste as a saint, then waited for her response. Her whisper caressed him in return.

“How very nice to meet you, Richard Durmond.”

By God, that sounded just as enticing in her quiet, freshly kissed voice as he'd hoped it would. If he wasn't so determined to see to taking better care of her after his spectacular lapse in self-control, he'd be eager already to find out how his name sounded as she moaned it aloud in a moment of passion. Now that would be something spectacular, indeed.

But he could wait. For her sake, he would let her rest. He would be patient.

At least, as patient as a drowning man could be. Truth and reality seemed to pour over him from all sides. As he lay there, holding Sophie and tenderly stroking her velvet skin, he realized just how hopeless things were.

Tonight he had taken her virtue; tomorrow he would take her father. There was little chance of him ever hearing her speak his name again without cursing him. Indeed, spectacularly little chance of that.

 

S
OPHIE CONCENTRATED ON KEEPING HER BREATHING
slow and steady.
Breathe in, breathe out.
Her shoulder hurt from where it pressed into a lump in the bed, but she didn't turn. The inn was silent, and Lindley was so close she could feel him breathing.

He was not touching her, though. After they'd…well, afterward…she'd had quite a struggle to calm herself down. Lindley did an honorable job of attempting to comfort her, but really all that did was make her feel even worse. Lord, what had she done, thinking she could play at this, then simply go back to Madame and forget all about him?