To Please A Lady (The Seduction Series) (16 page)

She squirmed, whimpering. “I don’t understand.”

“You don’t have to,” he whispered against her. “Just enjoy.”

He parted her legs farther and shoved his tongue into her tight passage. Eleanor cried out, arching her back. The sound of music and merriment hid her cries of delight. The vegetation provided shelter from prying eyes, but he maintained enough rational thought to realize they could be caught at any moment. The problem was he didn’t think he could stop even if the queen herself suddenly appeared.

“I feel so… so hot. So… achy.” Her entire body trembled. She found the pleasure he had been so desperate to give her and arched her hips, meeting his tongue thrust for thrust. Hearing her moan, feeling her body tighten, was pure agony.

“So hot, so… so…” He felt her tighten around his mouth. “Oh my.” Eleanor arched her back, crying out as muscles tensed.

“I can’t take it.” She lifted her hips more urgently.

“Let go, Eleanor, trust me.”

She released her skirts, gripping his hair almost painfully as the orgasm exploded through her body and around his tongue. The lingering sweetness of her release drifted away on the cool night breeze. It was over. James pressed a kiss to the inside of her right thigh, then pulled back, her taste still tantalizingly on his mouth. His erection jutted out angrily, demanding release. He ignored the aching need and tugged her skirts down around her legs. Her eyes were closed, her head back against the trunk, her breathing harsh. The bliss upon her face was almost too sweet to bear.

He pressed his body close to hers. “You are beautiful, brilliant,” he whispered into her hair, breathing in her clean scent. His hands trembled as he cupped the sides of her face.

She turned her head and molded her mouth to his. “I never knew. I didn’t understand…”

He tucked a loose lock of hair behind her ear, charmed by her innocence. She might be older than he, but she was much more sheltered. “That is the way intimacy is supposed to be.”

“It’s what they talk about, the chambermaids, the married women who giggle behind their fans.”

She seemed shocked by it all, as if she’d thought the entire thing had been a myth and only now knew it for reality. He nodded. Damn it all, he didn’t want to let her go. He wanted to show her more, so much more. If anyone deserved to know pleasure, it was Eleanor.

She brushed her hand down the side of his face, her piercing gaze on him as if trying to understand what had happened to her. “This is why women risk their reputations, why they visit Lady Lavender’s.”

He nodded again. There was nothing more to say. There was nothing more to show her. It was over, unfortunately right when it had begun. Slowly, he stepped back. His own body cried out in protest. He ignored the aching need to hold her closer, to find his own release. Now was not the time, perhaps never. He smoothed her skirts down, then picked up her bonnet and placed it over her still neatly coifed hair.

“Have you never pleasured yourself?” he asked, curious.

She looked confused. “I don’t understand…” Her eyes suddenly widened and he almost laughed at her shock. The woman had just been brought to orgasm in a public garden, yet the thought of touching her own body horrified her.

“Oh.” Even in the darkness he swore he could see her blush. She looked away, deeply embarrassed. “I will not answer that.”

He grinned and brushed his knuckles down her cheek. Hell, he was completely enchanted with her, and for a few moments he’d forgotten his own problems. But reality was slowly tearing down that wall of sexual haze they had created; time was passing quickly.

She shook her head, lifting her trembling hands to pull her netting back in place. “I just… it’s never been like that. I didn’t know.”

He brushed back her hair and straightened her bonnet, needing something to do to occupy his thoughts. “You do now.”

“Yes.” She was staring up at him in awe and confusion, hesitating because he knew she didn’t want to return to her world any more than he wanted to return to his. But she would definitely be missed, and he needed to uncover the truth about Lady Lavender and his family.

A couple stumbled down the path, their drunken giggles interrupting. James sighed, raking his hair back. “I need to return, as do you.”

“Yes.”

Yet they paused. He studied her fine features, realizing with a start that there was something different about her. Something had changed. The hard, cold Eleanor had disappeared. She seemed lost, confused. “Are you all right?”

She nodded, forcing herself to smile. “Yes, we should go.”

His hands curled as he resisted the urge to pull her close. A mixture of anguish and anger flooded his body. Eleanor stepped back, away from him. She might as well have traveled to another country. It was done. Their time, their relationship… over. For one insane moment he thought about asking her to run away with him. To jump on a boat headed down the Thames and disappear. But no, he had a sister to find, and she had a privileged life to live.

He brushed aside the low-hanging branches and made sure the path was clear. “Go first.”

She hesitated, her face unreadable in the shadows. But she was still, so very still. “Is this good-bye then?” Her warm breath moved the lace between them and tickled his lips.

“Perhaps. Or maybe someday we shall meet again.”

It was a lie, they both knew it, yet neither called it what it was. They would not ruin the moment, most likely their last. The entire world seemed to pause, then she shifted away from him.

“Thank you, James,” she whispered. “I shall never forget you.”

Before he could respond she turned and fled. He stepped from the trees, desperately searching for her fleeing form. Empty. If her scent hadn’t clung to his body, her taste on his tongue, he would have thought her a dream. He pressed his hand to his chest, where an aching heaviness that he didn’t quite understand had returned.

From somewhere to the right a woman giggled, a couple finding their own pleasure amongst the sin. He retraced his steps with wooden legs, walking slowly back toward Lady Lavender. The moment
had been pleasurable indeed, but James wanted more. He wanted her alone, for hours, on a large, soft bed.

“My goodness.” Lady Lavender stared with some amusement at the dirt upon the knees of his trousers. “I see you’ve been busy. A new client, or former?”

He wanted to make love to Eleanor far, far away from here, away from their responsibilities, away from the lives they knew. He brushed at his knees. She would charge a former client. A new client would get a free sample. He swallowed hard, avoiding her eyes, not because he feared she might see his guilt hovering within the depths, but because he feared she might see disillusioned anger. “New.”

She drank the sherry someone had purchased for her. “Good. More business.”

Was that all she cared about? Business? Did she care about anything, anyone other than money? He sat on the stone bench next to her, feeling unsettled, suddenly discontent. It was as if his sensibilities had left with Eleanor.

They would be returning to the estate in the morning, and part of him was relieved. London had become stifling, confusing, and unfamiliar. His relationship with Eleanor was over; there was no reason to stay. It was best to leave now, before he became even more obsessed. Eleanor was gone. Perhaps his mother had died. But he was determined, no matter what it took, to find out what had happened to his sister, with or without Lady Lavender’s assistance.

Chapter 8

The house was quiet as Eleanor stepped inside. She’d floated home on a cloud of thrumming satisfaction, never once thinking about how her husband would react when she arrived. As she paused in the eerily quiet foyer, she wondered if perhaps her luck had run out.

Not even the butler waited for her, which was odd indeed. The heavenly glow that had enveloped her since seeing James faded and a shiver of unease raised the fine hairs on her neck. Had someone died?

For one moment she merely stood there, confused, attempting to understand her unease. Slowly, so very quietly, she untied her bonnet and set the hat upon the receiving table. The foyer stood polished and gleaming as always, from the marble flooring to the crystal chandelier above. The soft tap of her slippers as she moved toward the steps was the only sound. Something was wrong. Very wrong.

“Where have you been?”

Startled by her husband’s voice, Eleanor spun around to face him. He looked calm, the perfect gentleman in his black evening attire. Too perfect, too calm. She schooled her features and forced
her lips to turn upward. Truth would be her best option, for she realized in that chilling moment that he knew something. “I went to the gardens for the show.”

“Gardens?” He strolled toward her, his gait easy and unhurried. His dress clothes indicated that he had just come from a ball, or the opera, which was why he was dressed in his evening wear. “Not a place for respectable women.”

She shrugged. “I didn’t think you cared what I did.”

Ridiculous, and they both knew it. Of course he cared. He always cared. When they’d first courted she’d thought his attention charming. It wasn’t until after they’d married that she’d realized it was merely his way of controlling her.

“Gossip, my dear.” He strolled around her like a farmer appraising cattle. “I care about gossip because it affects me and my family name.” He shook his head ruefully. “First, taking a hired hack home on your own, and now this? What will the world think?”

“I’ve never cared much for gossip or what others think, as you know, because usually it’s utter nonsense.” She started toward the stairs, determined to show no fear. Inside, she trembled. He knew something, she was sure of it. She would not panic, she would not beg for forgiveness, and she would not, under any circumstances, cave to the man’s power. “I’m tired. I’d like to retire.”

His hand lashed out, gripping her arm hard. She didn’t dare jump, had taught herself to keep still even while icy panic filled her soul. “Gossip, whether true or not, affects me. I will not be made a laughingstock!”

She jerked her head toward him. What did he know? She thought she’d been so clever hiring unmarked hacks and weaving in and out of crowds. She realized now she’d been a bloody idiot. “Whatever are you talking about?”

He pulled her close, crushing her to his chest much like James had done only an hour ago. But this was different, so very different. His hot breath brushed across her face and reeked of brandy.
He’d been drinking. He was worse when drinking. “You were seen with a man at the gardens.”

She refused to react even as biting fear crawled up her body, warning her to bolt. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Ridiculous?” He shoved her backward. Eleanor stumbled to get her footing but tripped over the rug and hit the wall hard. Pain radiated from her shoulder and down her back. For a moment, she merely gritted her teeth and leaned against the wall for support, attempting to regain control of her fear. She would not cry out. She would stay calm.

“Gossip,” she lied.

“I don’t give a shite what you did or didn’t do. What I care about is the reputation of my family!” He charged toward her, but she refused to run. There was no point; she had nowhere to go. “You have humiliated my family name merely by attending the garden party, and you know it!”

She’d thought his dark and heavy features so handsome and manly when she’d first met him. He’d looked just like his father; so very much like him in looks and temperament. The same heavy brow, same dark eyes, same square jaw, same uncontrollable anger. The man had beaten his son while extolling the importance of the family name. Not that she’d heard about his childhood from her husband’s lips. No, his sister had told her, perhaps hoping she would feel sorry for Lord Beckett, or merely understand his ways. But she would never understand why someone who had experienced pain and humiliation himself would wish to instill that same feeling in others.

“You will never humiliate me again!” He swung his arm forward, striking her hard against her right cheek. Eleanor stumbled, falling to her arse. The shock gave away to aching pain. She pressed her lips together, refusing to groan even while the coppery taste of blood swept across her tongue. He’d always been so very careful not to hit her face; why was he being reckless now?

“You will not leave this house alone ever again!” He reached down, gripping the collar of her dress. “You will be a veritable prisoner.”

“I already am!”

His eyes widened, anger reddening his face. He lifted his hand. Ellie refused to cringe, but waited for the blow.

“Stop!” Mrs. Handler cried out.

Eleanor’s anger flared. Of course the woman was here. Why was she not surprised? The fact that Mrs. Handler looked truly horrified didn’t help ease Eleanor’s ire, it only humiliated her all the more.

Lord Beckett released his hold, and panting with unspent emotion, he stumbled back. But his gaze, his heated gaze promised retribution. Slowly, he turned to face his mistress. “Don’t you dare tell me what to do.”

Mrs. Handler grasped onto the stairway railing, watching him with wide, bemused eyes. Eleanor felt a tingle of validation. The woman was seeing the true Lord Beckett for the first time. After a few tense moments, he swallowed hard, his hands fisting as if desperately trying to regain control. He wasn’t sorry for hurting her. He was sorry that Mrs. Handler had witnessed his lack of control. Without another word he stomped away, disappearing back into the library. He slammed the door shut, the entire town house vibrating and making Mrs. Handler cringe.

The foyer grew quiet. Not even the servants could be heard. They were, no doubt, hiding in the kitchens. Mrs. Handler started toward her, the swoosh of her pale pink skirts against the marble floor sounding unnaturally loud. The concern upon her face revolting. “You were spotted at the gardens with another man. Is it… true?”

Eleanor wished the woman would leave her alone. Wished she’d shut her mouth. She had the sudden urge to laugh at the absurdity of it all. Did Mrs. Handler truly believe she would reveal
her darkest secrets to her husband’s mistress? Did she think they were friends?