The Bewitching Hour (16 page)

      A shopping expedition with Cecelia sounded like great fun. “I would be happy to help under one condition.”
      “Name your terms.”
      She smiled at him. “You must tell me how your sister outmaneuvered you when she convinced you to let her keep the kitten. I may need the tactic for future reference.”
      He laughed. “Well, if you must know, she gave me a pitiful look.”
      Could he be managed that easily? She wasn't certain she believed it. “Truly? That’s all she had to do?”
      “She’s quite good at pitiful looks. This one was exceptional.”
      “You’re far too soft, my lord.”
      Stratton threw his head back and burst out laughing. “Not where you’re concerned, love.”
      Once more, Priscilla felt her cheeks burn. She wasn’t certain she understood his comment, but wasn’t about to let him know it. “I believe you’re being most improper again.”
      “I believe you’re right.”
      “We should go back inside. They’ll be wondering where we are.”
      “Mrs. Hutton is probably itching to box my ears for running off with you and leaving her and Lord Hamilton to deal with Aunt Mirabella. Is there any chance I’ll be forgiven?”
      “Possibly.” She straightened out her skirts before taking his arm. “I would suggest sending her a box of chocolate truffles and a very large bouquet of flowers.”
      “Lord Hamilton won’t mind? It’s fairly obvious he fancies her.”
      “He
adores
her. The poor man has been pursuing her since we returned. They’re perfect for one another.” She paused a moment. “It’s my fault, really, that she hasn’t agreed to marry him.”
      “She won’t leave you, will she?”
      “She hasn’t said so, but I’m sure that’s the reason.”
      “Things will work out,” he assured her. “Now, let’s go rescue her from Aunt Mirabella before I’m past all hope of forgiveness.”

Lady Williams kept a cool, impassive expression as she watched the couple emerge from the balcony. She hadn’t realized they would be attending this evening. It seemed Philip had spoken the truth about Priscilla Hawthorn and Lord Stratton. Even so, she wasn’t overly concerned by Stratton’s attention to Priscilla. The little wench was nothing but a spinster with no experience in the art of seduction. Other than a head of blond hair, a pair of blue eyes, and an impressive bosom, she had nothing to recommend her. Lady Williams had no doubt that she would quickly have the situation in hand. It was an annoyance, but really, how difficult could it be?
      “What are you thinking, my dear?” Lord Bennett had come up behind her. “You seem a million miles away.”
      She turned and looked up at him. He really was very good looking. Regular bouts at Gentleman Jackson’s kept him fit and lean. His dress was elegant and the thick wave of silver hair gave his handsome face a refined countenance. It was a shame he was nearly penniless.
      “Nothing of great importance, my lord,” she said demurely. “It just occurred to me that a man who would court and marry a woman strictly for her money is not a true gentleman. I don’t think I could bear to be involved with someone like that. Oh, I know it’s done all the time, but I think it’s terribly vulgar, don’t you?” She smiled sweetly as she flicked open her fan. “It’s dreadfully hot in here. Would you be a dear and find me something cool to drink?”
      His eyes narrowed slightly as he gazed at her. “Of course. I’ll be back in a moment.”

P
riscilla had just left Lady Almont's withdrawing room, when she heard a familiar voice.
      “Miss Hawthorn, I thought you had disappeared on me.”
      Flushing with pleasure, she turned. Stratton strolled toward her with a mischievous glint to his eyes. "Were you following me again, my lord?"
      He came up beside her. "I was."
      She tried to frown at him but couldn't make her lips oblige. “You can be amazingly covert. I don't know how you do it." Her gaze dropped as she collected her thoughts. "I noticed a slight tear on the hem of my gown and had to have it mended. I thought you had gone into the salon to play cards.”
      His lips curved into a faint smile. “I'd much rather spend my time with you than play cards. It was only a ploy to ensure that no one will be looking for me in the ballroom for a while. Besides, I’ve no wish to go home with my pockets empty and I haven’t won a hand since I’ve met you. At this rate, I’ll be a pauper before the season is over.”
      Putting her hands on her hips, she said, “You’re most unjust! Your run of bad luck at the tables has naught to do with me.”
      He reached up and gently touched her cheek. “You’re wrong about that. I can’t concentrate on my hand when I’m thinking about you.”
      She closed her eyes as a jolt of desire ran through her. “I believe you exaggerate,” she said slowly.
      “On the contrary.” He brought his hand down to his side.
      She opened her eyes and gazed at him. Her pulse fluttered as she took in the sensual curve to his lips, the blatant need that blazed in his eyes. Her throat went dry and for a moment she couldn’t speak. She took in an uneven breath.
      His eyes darkened and he held out his hand. ”Will you come with me?”
      This was not playful flirtation. The sudden surge of blood in her veins, the prickling of her nerves, the pounding of her heart, these all told her that she had no doubt as to what he was asking. She couldn’t plead innocence as to his intentions. And once decided she couldn’t change her mind. She moistened her lips and glanced down the deserted corridor. “Does anyone else know you’re here?”
      “No. The dinner crowd has scattered and guests are still arriving in droves. It has all the signs of a crush. I don’t think we need be concerned.” He paused. “If you have any doubt, love, don’t do it.”
      There were a hundred reasons as to why she shouldn’t go with him but none seemed important enough to stop her. She didn’t say anything but inclined her head in acceptance as she took the hand he offered. They strolled quietly through a maze of hallways flickering with candlelight. “I’ve completely lost all sense of direction. Where are we going?”
      “To the staircase at the rear of the house,” he said easily.
      “And after that?”
      “The rear wing of the fourth floor is used for storage.”
      “Have you been there before?”
      “No. I don’t make a habit of this. I only heard of it in passing.”
      She desperately wanted to believe him.
      “It seems deserted enough back here,” he murmured a few minutes later when they reached the narrow staircase. “I imagine most of the servants are up front helping with the ball.” He placed his hand on the small of her back and guided her up the narrow steps. On reaching the third floor, the din of the ball behind them was barely audible and the halls were poorly lit. “Wait a moment.” He went over to the closest wall sconce and removed a taper. “The fourth floor may not be lit at all.”
      She felt a delicious fluttering in the pit of her belly. “I’m feeling terribly wicked,” she whispered.
      “Excellent,” he murmured. “Being wicked is always more fun than behaving.”
      They crept up the last flight of steps and after reaching the top, faced a very dark corridor. “You were right,” she said. Apprehension traveled up her spine. “It’s pitch black up here. I can’t see a thing.”
      He held the taper up. The light from the candle was meager but the flame illuminated an area large enough to keep them from stumbling. “Your eyes will adjust in a moment.”
      “Where do we go from here?” she whispered.
      She could feel the deep rumble in his body as he laughed. “There’s no one up here but us, love. You don’t need to whisper. In answer to your question, I suppose we stroll along and open doors until we find something that strikes our fancy. Shall we begin here?”
      “Yes.” Priscilla felt another flutter in her belly. It was all she could do not to giggle.
      Stratton pulled opened the first door. It creaked loudly and the smell of lye and vinegar hit them in the face.
      “Cleaning supplies I believe,” Priscilla commented.
      “Not at all romantic.” He shut the door and they went to the next. It was packed with furniture.
      “Third time’s the charm,” Stratton said optimistically as he pulled open the next door. The room was too full of crates and boxes to allow admittance. “Then again, possibly not. The next has to be it,” he added.
      “You sound so certain.”
      “I believe what you hear is desperation.”
      He opened the next and took a step inside. The night had grown hazy and only the barest hint of moonlight drifted through the window. He moved the flickering candle around to get a better look. The room was almost bare. There were a few trunks on one side of the wall and against the other was a table partially covered with a dust cloth.
      “Ah. This is an improvement. A little moonlight, enough space to move around. Do you find our accommodations agreeable? Have we reached our destination?”
      She scrutinized the room as best she could. “We have.”
      He took her hand, drew her inside and shut the door. Then moving over to the window, he dripped candle wax on the window sill and secured the taper. And before she realized what he was doing, he tossed back the dust cover, caught her around the waist and swung her up on the table.
      “Good heavens. Why did you put me up here?” The candlelight offered enough light for her to realize he was stripping off his gloves. “And why are you removing your gloves?”
      “I’m trying to avoid a sore neck. And,” She could hear the laughter in his voice as he stuffed his gloves in his pocket, “you’ll soon find out why I removed my gloves.” He rested his palms on the table. “I’m about to kiss you, Miss Hawthorn.” He leaned up against her and brushed his lips across hers. “You know, kissing often leads to shameless behavior,” he whispered into her ear.
      “Kissing does? Are you certain?” she murmured. “What kind of shameless behavior?”
      He nuzzled her cheek and she tilted her head to allow him access to her neck. “I really shouldn’t tell you. Mmm. This really won’t do.” He gently nudged her knees apart and moved in-between them. “That’s better.”
      She rested her hands on his shoulders; a shiver of delight traveled down her spine as he lightly kissed her earlobe then traced the tip of his tongue along the curve of her ear. “Why is it shameless?” she asked unevenly.
      He nibbled on her earlobe. “Are you certain you want to know?”
      “Yes.” She shivered again.
      “Are you positive?”
      Frustrated she said, “Yes!” Then pressed her palms against the sides of his face and pulled him over until his mouth covered her. She felt his shoulders shake with laughter until she touched the tip of her tongue to his and he responded by crushing her against him. The tone of his kiss changed to one of possession. His tongue swept through her mouth. At that moment he could do anything he wanted, take liberties she hadn’t dreamed existed and she wouldn’t stop him. No, it was more than that; she would welcome them. She felt a tug on the bodice of her gown and the caress of cool air against her bared breasts.
      “I plan to kiss every single delightful inch of you. No exceptions,” he murmured. “Starting here.” He bent his head and she felt a tremor rock through her as he pressed his lips against her breast.
      Shaken, she took in a sharp breath and put her hands in his hair cradling him against her as he kissed the hollow between her breasts. Her heart was pounding. She could feel the faint stubble of his jaw against her skin. The scent of bay rum and French milled soap sunk into her senses. “I didn’t know.”
      He lifted his head. “Didn’t know what, love?”
      She forced herself to breathe. “That this was done,” she managed to get out.
      “There’s a world of pleasure you’ve yet to experience. You’ve no idea how many times I’ve imagined doing this. You have the most beautiful breasts.” He lowered his head and touched her nipple with his tongue then softly blew his warm breath against it.
      Her belly clenched and she shuddered as she drew him closer. He took one breast in his mouth, the other palmed in his bare hand as he lightly circled the dark tip with his thumb. She rested her cheek against his hair and moaned softly, aware of nothing but the glorious way he made her feel.
      Pulling back he whispered, “Do you like this?”
      “Stop talking.” She closed her eyes and groaned, urging him back to her breast.
      He laughed softly. “I’ll take that as a yes.” His mouth returned to her breast, his tongue flicking the areole, his teeth nipping its peak. She flinched at the erotic mix of pain and pleasure. He palmed both breasts pressing them together, his thumbs continuing their caress, his tongue heating her skin as he explored the deep crevice between them. Her body soon became a myriad of sensations. A slow tension began to build within her, and she found herself restless, craving more than what he was giving. He seemed to sense her agitation.
      “Put your arms around my neck and lift up your bottom,” he ordered.
      His words moved through her and she did as he asked with complete trust, wrapping her arms around him and raising her hips.
      He placed his hands beneath her and pulled her skirts free so that her dress and chemise were hiked up around her waist and there was nothing between her and the table. The feel of the cool hard surface beneath her was strangely erotic. A pulsing between her legs filled her with need.
      “That’s better,” he whispered. He kissed her throat, then her mouth as he slowly ran his hands up her thighs. He stopped as he reached the bare flesh above her stockings, lightly caressing her skin before he moved on to the line of her hip, the indention of her waist. She shivered with anticipation as the dampness stirred between her legs.
      He stopped. “Are you cold, love?”
      She shook her head. “No.”
      “Should I stop?”
      Incapable of denying herself this bliss, she sagged against him. “Please, no.”
      He let out a slow breath and whispered hoarsely, “Thank God. I don’t know what I would have done had you said yes.”
      His hands spanned her waist and he slowly traced a line down her belly with a single fingertip dipping lower until he found the mass of curls at the junction of her thighs. “So soft,” he murmured. His gaze fixed on her face he began to massage her lightly, not touching the satin folds, but stroking around them until a coiled tension seized her.
      She caught her breath as her body lurched with both shock and desire. “I’m not sure you’re supposed to do that.”
      A faint rumble of laughter came from somewhere deep inside him. Instinctively she tried to lift her hips and move against him, but he held her trapped firmly on the table. "Not so fast, love,” he said. Holding her tightly around the waist he lifted her forward then nudged her thighs further apart. “Open your legs a little more.”
      She did and felt the shock of cool air as he parted her and further exposed the most intimate part of her body to his touch. He stroked her with feather light caresses, continuing on and on until she was breathless with need. It was an exquisite torture, her body desperately seeking what he would not give her. Then she gasped, realizing that he had eased his finger inside her and was stroking her intimately while his thumb continued to caress the sensitive bud at the uppermost region of her opening. She squirmed and writhed until an overwhelming spiraling need overtook her. He loosened his grasp and she began to move against him in search of release.
      “Do you want me, my love?”
      She took in a shuddering breath and nodded against his shoulder.
      “Say it,” he commanded.
      “I want you. Now!”
      With one hand he quickly unfastened his breeches and she felt the hard press of his desire nestled against the junction between her legs. Her slickness offered no resistance and he eased himself inside her only stopping when he reached the thin wall of her maidenhead. She shifted her hips, marveling at the feel of him inside her.
      “Wait,” he said hoarsely. But the need was too strong. She wasn’t certain who moved first but a second later she felt the sharp pain of her breeched maidenhead. She sucked in her breath and held still.
      He held her tightly. "Are you alright, love?"
      She shifted against him. The pleasure far outweighed the residual pain. “Yes.”
      “Lean back on your elbows,” he instructed. “And close your eyes. Don’t think about anything. Let me do it all.” He lifted her hips with one hand as he stroked her with the other and slowly began to move inside her. He was gentle at first, whispering tender words of love, building a rhythm; but the gentleness soon gave way to something more primal.
      She felt the heat he created within her with every stroke, the way he filled her with every thrust. She feasted on the sensations until need took hold and she couldn’t hold back. Using her arms as leverage, she spread her legs further apart and moved against him meeting each thrust with as much force as she was able. No one else existed. They had been stripped bare and all that was left was a desperate, heated need for pleasure and completion. She was helpless to do anything other than follow her urges. Each thrust became more forceful, the tempo increased until intense spasms of pleasure overtook her and she was completely lost in sensation. He groaned and shuddered, his hands gripping her around the waist as he pumped into her with his own release. She tried to slow the beating of her heart; took in a breath to meet the sudden need for air. Then she tightly wrapped her legs around his waist and allowed him to gather her up and hold her close.
      Moments passed and she let out a small sigh of contentment.
      “Did you enjoy yourself?” he asked gently.
      She didn’t want to interrupt this blissful haze with speech or thought, but reality was slowly returning and she managed to nod her head. “Have we been here long?”