The Trouble With Moonlight (20 page)

“Ever since that first night, I’ve wanted this,” he said, fondling the tip of her breast with his fingertips. “If we hadn’t been interrupted in the conservatory . . .”

Then he stopped and grew still. Lusinda pulled back, afraid he was once again withdrawing from her.

“What’s happening?” he asked. “You’re glowing.”

She smiled; indeed, the interior of the carriage was illuminated as if a torch had been lit. “Without direct moonlight, I’m returning to normal.”

“Whereas I may never be normal again,” he said, trailing kisses down her neck. “How long does this last?”

“Not long. It varies.” Even without her restrictive corset she was finding it difficult to breathe. Delicious tremors racked her body from her knees to her nose. “I should be fully phased in . . .”

His tongue laved an area immediately above her breast, an area that should have been covered by the coat. She glanced down to see that he had managed to unfasten all of her buttons. The fabric had parted, exposing her completely to his view.

He glanced at her, a teasing grin on his face. “I’m sorry, Lusinda. I had to see. I didn’t want to miss it.”

She gasped at the panic churning in her belly. Although she was accustomed—to a certain extent—to being naked in a man’s company while fully phased, no man had ever seen her thus. She wasn’t sure of his reaction.

“My God, you are beautiful.” He raised both hands and covered her breasts. “Your skin has the alabaster sheen of a marble statue but the warmth of a living, breathing woman.”

She pulled back and narrowed her eyes. “I am a living, breathing woman.”

“Thank the Lord for that.” He placed his hands on either side of her and slid them down past the curve of her waist, then out along the flaring of her hips.

“When you fell from that tree, your beauty nearly brought me to my knees. If I hadn’t been so concerned as to your safety, you would have had to pick me off the ground.”

The bright glow produced by her phasing began to dim, leaving behind opaque skin tones. She wondered if now that she was normal, he would lose interest in her. But she soon learned what a silly notion that was.

The carriage rocked through the deep rut worn in front of Kensington House before coming to a stop. Lusinda straightened in her position on Locke’s lap, much to his delight. He began to lave one of her breasts that seemed poised for his ministrations. His hands dipped into the sagging cloth of her coat and grasped her derriere. Her eyes rounded to Locke’s. “I’m not ready to leave the carriage.”

“I quite agree.”

He opened the latch window that allowed him to talk to the driver. “Keep driving, Fenwick.”

“Where to, sir?”

“It doesn’t matter. Just keep moving.”

The carriage jolted forward, as did she, a circumstance of which Locke took full advantage. He captured the tip of her breast in his mouth and suckled as an infant might. Her eyes grew large. “I’m not sure it’s proper—”

“Miss Havershaw”—he released the nipple, which now extended beyond normal proportions, almost as if it were reaching for his lips—“I believe we’ve moved far beyond proper.” A smile tugged at his lips. He resettled her on his lap, only this time forcing her astride him. “Now, I propose to taste you in all the places I tasted previously, to see if there’s a subtle difference between your various phases.”

Lusinda giggled, enjoying this wantonness between a man and a woman. “There should be no change. It was me all along.”

“Never question the research, Lusinda,” he said before beginning to kiss her neck all over again.

Emboldened by his attention, she determined to engage in some research herself. All those times she had ventured to the less respectable areas in London, she had witnessed men and women engaged in various titillating activities. A deep yearning pulled inside her. She loosened the knot of Locke’s neckcloth.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“I want to see what you feel like.”

Instantly, the bulge between his legs stirred and hardened, though her attention was directed to his chest. Locke made something of a choking noise. “Let me help you.”

He removed his jacket and vest, her fingers already working on the buttons of his shirt. She unfastened four of the bone obstacles, then pushed her hands into the shirt opening. Her fingers slid through tight curls of chest hair, drawing a smile to her lips. Some men had hair on their chests, she knew from her observations, some men didn’t. Already her tactile exploration of his chest answered her unvoiced questions regarding the textures of a man’s body. She pushed the enlarged shirt opening over his shoulders, in essence trapping him in a restraint made of his own linen, so she could visually confirm all that her fingers reported. She splayed her fingers wide and ran them up the hard planes of his abdomen and chest till they uncovered his masculine nipples. Delight rippled through her. “Are they the same as mine?”

“I wouldn’t think they could nourish a babe,” he replied with a grin.

“Silly.” She laughed. “I mean, do they feel the same as mine do. When I touch you like this . . .” She leaned down and rolled her tongue around the hard protrusion, just as he had done to her earlier. “Do you feel a tingle?” She dragged her hand down the center of her chest to just below her belly button. “All the way down here?”

“My God, do you know what you’re doing to me?” He placed her hand on the rising bulge. “Tell me if you believe I can’t feel your touch.”

Of course, placing her hand on his straining cock did nothing to alleviate the pressure building within his trousers. James felt himself harden to unimaginable proportions, but with his wrists bound alongside his hips by the shirt restraint, he couldn’t reach far enough to loosen the fastenings. He leaned back, away from the naked beauty so intently studying him, shifting his hips slightly forward in an attempt to ease the pressure. Had she truly asked if her touch affected him?

Both her hands pressed and molded his chest, exploring his anatomy beneath the fabric.

“Lusinda, please . . .” he gritted out between his teeth. “I’m at your mercy. Unfasten the garments. I promise I won’t take advantage, just—”

“You’re at my mercy?” For the first time she seemed to realize that he couldn’t move his hands beyond a limited frame. A mischievous look crossed her face. She made short work of the buttons on his trousers, although coercing them through the fabric hole proved a bit difficult. He sprung from the loosened fabric like a phoenix reborn, which again delighted her.

“I’ve seen men like you,” she confided.

“Oh, you have, have you?” Her confirmation of his suspicions dampened his spirits a bit. What did he expect? She paraded about London naked on a monthly basis. Was it any wonder that she’d experienced naked men? She’d obviously enjoyed the meeting from the delighted expression on her face. She teased him as an experienced woman, confident with her sensual proclivities. Pickering’s insinuations taunted him. Although he knew Lusinda well enough to know she was not the baser sort that indiscriminately entertained men, her knowledge was apparently beyond that of an innocent.

“Yes.” She slid her hand up his member and like an obedient dog, it stretched higher to receive more of her ministrations. “And when the man looks as you do now, I’ve seen the women position themselves thusly.” She raised her hips above his and balanced herself with the tip of his manhood aligned for her core.

“Lusinda,” he said tightly, “I’m not sure this is wise.”

She eased down, allowing the tip of his shaft to feel the moist inner lining of her core, but stopped before the entire head could gain entry. A drop of her juices ran down the length of his shaft in excruciatingly slow deliberation.

“My God,” he ground out between clenched teeth. His entire being cried to thrust upward, while caution and some nondeciphered hesitancy held him at bay.

“Something’s not right,” she said, her face twisted in puzzlement. “The women appeared to just slip down on the man’s shaft like a candy stick plopped between a child’s lips.” She frowned. “Am I too small? Too narrow? Because I must confess, your shaft looks much larger than the ones I observed at the Velvet Slipper.”

A tiny alarm triggered in the back of his mind. She was describing actions in terms of witnessing them, not participating. The discomforting observation began to claw through the sensual euphoria that made logical thought impossible.

“The men seemed to enjoy the sensation while you appear in agony.” She peered down at him. “Is this not giving you pleasure?”

At that moment the carriage jostled over the rut in front of his house. The carriage and all its contents followed the downward path of the wheel before the heavy metal springs compressed to absorb the jolt and return the carriage to its normal position.

Lusinda’s body followed the downward path as well, impaling herself on Locke’s upright and begging member. Her high-pitched yelp combined with his blissful groan as the carriage rocked to a stop. She collapsed against his chest. His arms still bound at his side, he couldn’t wrap them around her as he wished. He was still fist-tied, as it were, buried deep within her, and still at her mercy.

“Lusinda,” he said as gently as his heavy breathing allowed. “I need you to lift the latch over my shoulder, so I can speak to the driver. Can you do that, love?”

She turned her face up to his. The tears glistening at the corner of her eyes tugged at his heart. Already he could feel a thick warm wetness leaking from her body onto his. He didn’t need to see it to know it would be tinged with blood. Her blood. The evidence shone in those tear-rimmed eyes.

“I know it hurts.” He kissed her forehead and nuzzled her with his chin. “We’ll see if we can do something about that, but first, let me send the driver around the block so we can have a few private moments together.”

She reached above his head and held the latch open while he yelled up instructions to Fenwick. The carriage jerked forward and she curled back against his chest. My God, what had he done!

“Could you do one more thing for me? Could you unfasten one of these sleeves and hold it steady?” He extricated his arm. “That’s it.” He wrapped both arms around her back, pulling her close. “I’m sorry. Had I realized this would be your first time, I wouldn’t have allowed—”

“You thought I was wanton?”

He pulled her head back down to his chest. “I thought you were wonderful.” He kissed her head. “I think you are magnificent. The next time our passions carry us away to commit such a rash act, I promise . . .” He hesitated. Would there be a next time? Or would she despise him for her ruin? He wouldn’t blame her if she did. He was the experienced one. He should have known better.

“Now that the damage has been done, I would that you experience the pleasure that follows the pain.”

“This is not pleasurable,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Had I known . . .” He stopped his discourse about how it would have been different had he realized she was a virgin. What good would those words do now? Was there anything he could do to make right the harm done to her?

You could marry her.
As quickly as the thought appeared, he dismissed it. Giving her his last name would probably expose her to more danger than letting her go alone. He couldn’t do that to her, not to Lusinda.

“Ssh now,” he murmured as he stroked her back. “The pain will pass. After a warm bath and pleasant night’s sleep, you’ll look at all this differently. I promise. This may have been a rash act, but once—”

She bolted upright, and he retracted from the fiery gleam in her eye.

“YOU BELIEVED THIS TO BE RASH? ILL CONSIDered?”

“Don’t tell me you
intended
for me to take your maidenhead. ” He had thought she was merely playacting what she had seen others do. Certainly she couldn’t have planned the timing of that jolt to the carriage caused by the wheel rut, could she?

“That act is generally reserved for husbands, and I’m certainly in no position to fulfill that role.”

He could still see hurt reflected in her eyes, though in truth, he didn’t know if the pain came from her lost innocence or from his words. Damnation, if he had thought the girl was an innocent, he wouldn’t have allowed things to go this far. But how was he to know?

“I should advise, for the sake of your future husband, that a coupling such as this often results in pleasure, not pain. Generally, caution is taken on a woman’s first time to proceed gently. Had I known—”

“You encouraged me,” she accused.

“Good heavens, woman, you dash about London with nary a stitch. What’s a man to assume? You display a confidence and sensuality only known to an experienced woman. And then, of course, there’s the matter of those kisses. I’m only human, Lusinda, a man can only . . .”

She stared at him aghast, then lifted herself from his lap and pulled her coat tightly around her.

“Lusinda, you know the nature of my business. As desirable as marriage to you might be, it is not something I can afford,” James pleaded. Already he could feel the cold loneliness of his life before Lusinda creep back into his bones. “I explained when I encouraged you to move in with me how family could be placed at risk and used as leverage.”

“By your very words I can see that I can not be used as leverage against you.” She slid to the farthest end of the seat, lifted the shade and pressed her nose to the window.

“Lusinda . . . I ...”

“I believe you have said enough.”

It was probably just as well. He couldn’t think of another thing to say. He just wanted her to look at him, understand that this was an accident, that he meant her no harm. The carriage wheel slipped into the familiar rut and rocked to a stop before a coded rap from Locke sent the driver round to the delivery entrance in the back. They left the carriage and hurried inside.

“I’ll collect my things,” Lusinda said, her gaze averted from him.