The Delicate Matter of Lady Blayne (27 page)

He was a bastard, a blackguard.

He would have her no matter.

Chapter Eighteen

James traced a fingertip along the delicate lace at the neckline of her chemise. At the brush of his fingertips against her flesh, she suppressed a shiver. His stare seemed to sear her to her very toes, and she couldn’t shake off the odd sense that now might be her last change to flee.

Flee?

But why?

To be James’ mistress.

It was what she wanted. She had to please him, really please him, to make him want to finally agree to offer her his protection, his firm hand and guidance.

Yes, but—she resisted another shiver—she hadn’t quite been prepared for the change in his demeanor.

He hooked his finger into the neckline and gave it quick downward tug. “Take this off.”

She caught her breath. Goodness, his tone!

Yes, he had often been terse in the past. This was a different sort of terseness. She couldn’t quite place how it was different, but somehow she suddenly felt like his quarry.

He had been holding back before. Protecting her against this—this what? This utter sense of possession and hunger. Was that it? Did she read him correctly?

Her throat went dry.

She swallowed, unable to move, held spellbound by that dark blue gaze that was as fierce as a hawk’s.

“Take it off, now.” He gave the neckline another tug, not so gentle this time.

A shiver raced through her, for she understood. She would take it off now or he would tear it off.

Another of those shivers raced through her, followed by a strong urge to run. Whilst she still had a chance.

What foolishness!

She had wanted this. She shook herself. Then, on unsteady legs, she rose up a bit and lifted the hem free of her knees and quickly pulled it up over her head and cast it aside. She sat back on her knees, straightened her spine and lifted her chin, trying to hide the fact that she was shaking all the harder now.

“Lower your eyes,” he said. His tone was soft but the steel edge beneath sent her heart gently pounding. “You’re mine now.”

“Yes, I am,” she agreed, though she could hear the hoarseness in her voice. She became more aware of her own nakedness. And of the fact that he was completely dressed, right down to his cravat being quite intricately tied. That surprised her. He’d had no valet here. Neither Freddy nor Papa could tie their own cravats that extravagantly, that expertly. He’d been lounging on the bed, yet his clothing bore no wrinkles and not one speck of lint.

Always impeccable.

Always determined.

Always in control.

Yes, she had selected him for those qualities. But never before had she been more aware of them. Aware of him. Of the things she knew about him.

And of just how much she had yet to learn about him.

That predatory look in his eyes made her think that she might have underestimated just how much she didn’t know. Just how complex he might be beneath the façade of the stern-faced, disciplined naval officer.

That night long ago, when he had tried to seduce her in the Blayne gardens, should have given her a clue. Yet, she had thought him a typical gentleman, fixed on seducing any woman who crossed his path.

I was intent upon your ruin. I was determined to marry you.

When he’d first told her this, she had thought he was simply trying to placate her. To say something he thought a woman would find romantic and flattering. To charm her in his way.

Now her heart began to pound. All because the mask of the gentleman officer, the distant, duty-focused baron, had fallen away.

He touched her breast. She jumped, then gasped. Nervousness consumed her and the tension made her release a small laugh.

He cupped both breasts from the underside. “These are perfect.”

He handled her differently, as though he were weighing and judging a possession. It made her mouth go drier. The balance of power between them had shifted. Not only had she handed herself over to him, but he had changed his internal view of their liaison. Before the previous night, he had been motivated by chivalry.

By honor and duty.

Now, to all appearances, he was motivated by a man’s sexual possessiveness. A type and intensity of sexual possessiveness that no man had shown to her before.

Such a change startled her. She had expected James to remain cool, slightly detached, to command her and take her with a certain pragmatic calmness.

She realized that in seeking to seduce him, she’d been playing with fire.

She had thought herself so experienced with men and sexual relations. Oh, heavens, what an untried girl she really was. At least, James made her feel that way in this moment.

He stroked her breasts with feather-soft brushes of his fingertips. She could feel the heat of his desire coming off him, as one senses the pressure in the air before a thunderstorm. Little eddies of apprehension swirled deep in her belly. She swallowed against her increasingly parched mouth.

Jitters tickled the soles of her feet; she felt a sudden need to arise and walk about the chamber. She’d been kneeling for some time now, and her legs and knees were beginning to ache. But the brilliant intensity of his gaze transfixed her. Held her frozen.

However, he did not seem moved to speed the matter along. And why should he? He was quite comfortable perched there on the bed.

It struck her that he was enjoying the current dynamic between them.

You’re mine, the way you should have been from the first.

His words from the night before came back to her. She had a new appreciation for their deeper meaning. Apparently, he had nurtured a passion for her over the years. A most possessive passion.

She had been ready for play.

Ready for a little guidance.

She wasn’t sure she was ready for such possessive fire.

The notion surprised her. She didn’t seem to know herself and her wants as well as she’d thought.

His attention was riveted to her breasts. He cupped them more firmly. Small currents of desire tingled through her belly. Her nipples had formed into tight peaks, aching for his touch. She was torn between that rising apprehension and her sensual desires. She searched for some topic to distract him. “The baggage cart, it should arrive soon?”

He glanced up, his gaze a brilliant sapphire. “They will arrive when they arrive. They can wait below stairs.”

“Yes, of course.”

He withdrew his hands from her breasts. “What’s the matter?”

“Oh, nothing.”

“Don’t ever lie to me.”

“Yes, yes, of course, I will not.”

“You wanted to be mine. To be my mistress.”

“I did…I
do.”
She wiped her sweaty palms on her thighs. Then she glanced up, whilst biting her lip. “Am I now your mistress?”

He nodded.

She had expected relief but her sense of trepidation increased. Even though she had thought it all over and come to the conclusion that this was the best path for her, she was still painfully aware that she was making a change in her life’s course. A change that could never be undone.

She took a deep breath.

This was her chance for freedom from Frances Blayne’s dominion. Freedom from the threat of having to travel all the way to India and to join Mama and Papa in a life of pious good examples and self-denial.

She was not fit to be any man’s wife. Meeker had made that perfectly clear to her, and her own shameful actions had proved him correct. She probably could not give a man an heir. Yet, she needed a strong man in her life. Someone to help her heal.

This was her chance, possibly her only chance, for healing from the past, her chance to finally fully stretch her wings under the protective shelter of the only person she believed she could trust.

Yes, she could trust James to provide the kind of control she needed. He would never allow her to disappoint him, she knew, and yet, she believed with all her heart that he would also never unfairly limit her liberty.

It was the best compromise possible. After all, life was all about compromise.

She studied his handsome face.

Most importantly, I want him.

Only him.

Yes, she had wanted him all along. Since the first day she’d ever set eyes on him. The strength of that wanting had frightened her. It would have meant rebelling against Mama and Papa and she simply hadn’t been ready.

She was ready now.

Especially with James to stand behind her.

This was her moment of rebellion against everyone else who staked a claim to control her life.

That admission rocked her to her foundations. Yet, it filled her with a sense of her own power.

The power to choose.

She smiled at him, tentatively. Her lips were trembling.

James caressed her jaw, then trailed his fingertips along her ear as he tucked back one of her curls. “If you want me to stop anything, anytime, you must tell me to halt.”

“Halt…I-I mean this is what you wish me to say?”

“Yes, that is my wish. Don’t say stop or no, not if you’re serious.”

“You mean if I say stop or no…”

“I shall ignore it.”

“Oh.” The full ramifications of what he’d said settled over her, all the possibilities expanding in her imagination.

It left her a bit breathless.

“Well?” He studied her.

“I-um…” She shifted on her knees to ease the aching there. “You mean do I wish you to…halt now?”

“I am not going to press you if you do not wish it.”

But in his eyes, in the tense set of his jaw, she saw that he wanted to, that he’d be holding himself under utmost restraint. Goodness, she had never dreamed of inspiring such passion in any man, much less this one. The power of that passion held her in awe, for she understood now more than ever the double-edged nature of that power. James was a man very different from Freddy or Silas Chapman.

“No, I don’t wish you to halt.”

He cupped one side of her face. “You understand that part of our dynamic is that as my mistress, you are here to serve my needs?”

His voice sounded so even, so calm. His movements seemed so leisurely. Yet, she could still feel the intensity of his passion crackling on the air. Burning in his gaze.

She nodded.

He moved away from her and began to unfasten his fall.

Giddiness swept over her, apprehension or anticipation, maybe both. Her knees ached all the more, her legs were numb. As she watched, his unhurried fingers gained speed until he wrenched the last few buttons on his trousers open. He pulled his fall aside and his erection sprang into view, thick, strong, like a pillar of marble emerging from his trousers.

He grasped her wrist, gently pulling her forward. She moved forward and rested her arms on his legs.

Did she imagine the tremor in his hand?

He pulled her hand down then wrapped it about himself.

How smooth was his flesh. How hot. How hard. She wrapped her fingers around that satin-covered steel and gripped him. He throbbed within her fist and her heart leapt with excitement. A sound like a cross between a laugh and a gasp escaped her. He squeezed his hand over hers and no, this time she did not imagine the tremor.

Still holding her hand over his rod, he thrust his pelvis, sliding his flesh back and forth within her grasp. His jaw clenched, flames seemed to light in his eyes. It caused an answering quiver of anticipation to flame to life in her belly. Her channel clenched and she became aware of the wetness between her legs. Pins and needles stung like nettles in her feet and lower legs but lust commanded the better part of her attention. She wished he would release her hand and let her stroke him. To learn his feel. To experiment with what he liked.

“James?” she asked, hearing the breathlessness in her voice.

He took her hand and lifted it from his flesh.

He put his hands on her shoulders and gently pushed her back. She rested on her knees again and shifted a bit clumsily on her numb yet tingling limbs. The physical discomfort couldn’t match her emotional distress. Oh, he was the most maddening man! Why wouldn’t he just let things happen between them?

He cupped her face with one hand. “You are well experienced with giving a man pleasure with your mouth?”

She nodded. His bluntness set her heart gently pounding with excitement.

“I didn’t let you demonstrate your skill last time.”

She shook her head.

“Why don’t you show me now?”

He held his cock up, the angle making much of his girth, his length. The tip glistened with his leaking fluid.

She reached for him.

He shook his head. “Just your mouth.”

She suppressed a gasp. He had said she might show him her skill. How would she possibly do that adequately if he wouldn’t allow her to use her hands?

“Take me in your mouth.” The terseness had reentered his voice. That and his burning gaze were the only signs of his impatience.