Virgin Unwrapped (2 page)

Robert Breton ate the fine meal provided by his wealthy friend, willing himself to clear his plate. He would choke down each bite if he had to, and swill enough of the expensive port to blot the episode with Miss Clairemont from his mind.

A short distance from him, Anne looked equally uncomfortable, seated between her parents and scant inches from the watchful eyes of Stratford. Not that Stratford was bothering to observe her. Robert had forced a promise from him to pay more attention to the girl he meant to marry, but it seemed to be forgotten almost as soon as it was made. Joseph simply didn’t care for her other than as another measure of his success.

But that indifference did not give Robert the right to kiss her. He could pretend that he’d expected her to strike him, to protest, and to ban him from the house. If she had tried, he’d likely have kissed her all the more, using any tricks he could think of to prove to her what he already knew: she did not love Joseph Stratford. It was unworthy of her to marry him.

Robert’s own feelings were no more clear than hers. He should not be pretending that he was trying to save his friend from a fortune hunter. He wanted Anne Clairemont for himself. Her total surrender to him after only a few kisses proved the feeling to be reciprocated. The slightest prompting had produced an orgasm worthy of a Cyprian. The savage kiss she returned left him imagining the lover she would become. The idea that she might develop those talents in a bed other than his own was almost too painful to contemplate.

But he could not seem to stop brooding on it. He finished his dinner in silence and plodded through the dancing and games of the evening with a wooden smile until the last of the guests were retiring. Then he slipped from the room so that he would not be forced to witness a sweet goodbye between Stratford and Anne.

“Mr. Breton? We need to talk.” He had been too slow. The object of his desire was coming down the hallway toward him.

“Surely it can wait until tomorrow. It is late. I must be getting to bed.” There was that image again, of her, sprawled in his sheets. “Tomorrow. We will talk then. Skating is planned in the afternoon.” There would be other guests about, and servants. And God help him, Stratford. How was he to go on?

“I wish to speak to you now. Tonight.” There was an earnest desperation in her big, blue eyes. “My parents and I will be leaving soon. The rest of the party has retired. Surely you can spare a few moments.”

It was an innocent enough request. But there was no innocence left in him to spare. Still, he was not strong enough to refuse her. “Very well. A few words only.”

She took him by the arm and pulled him into a small parlor at the back of the house, shutting the door behind them. The room was rarely used and barely lit. The lack of decoration proved that no one was expecting the guests to come to this part of the manor. They might be alone together for some time before anyone even thought to look here.

The thought was both pleasing and unnerving. He took a breath, reminding himself of the risks. Then he said, “What is it you wished to discuss?”

“I need to know why you kissed me.”

“Why?” Could she truly be this naive? Had it not been obvious from the first day how he had struggled with his feelings for her, knowing he must not touch her even as circumstance had pushed them closer and closer together?

“Yes,” she said firmly. “Why would you do such a thing? I did not think you liked me.” She was wringing her hands as though it embarrassed her to admit her fears.

“Like you?” He laughed in surprise. “I wish I did not. What I feel for you is far stronger than polite regard. It will be the ruin of me, I’m sure. But there is little I can do about it.”

“You seemed so cold,” she pressed on. “So distant.”

“You are a fine one to talk. You are willing to give yourself to a man you do not care for, just to get his fortune and his house.”

“That is not true,” she said. “About my not caring for Joseph. I care…very much.”

Robert groaned. “That is even worse. What kind of woman are you that you allow me to kiss you when you claim to care for another? And now that I have embarrassed myself by revealing my desire for you, how can you torture me with your feelings for my best friend?”

“I do not mean to hurt you,” she insisted. “I do not wish ill on anyone. And, of course, I care for Joseph. How could I not? He is kind, and has been good to me and to my family. I must care for him. I simply must.” She said the last as though she needed to convince herself of the fact, more than him.

“But all those times when we were alone together, were you simply being kind to me because I am a friend of Joseph’s?” he asked.

“Yes. No. I mean…I like you. Of course I do. If things were different…” Then she stopped, as though fearful to say more.

“You like me.” He felt a totally inappropriate surge of confidence. With her formal engagement only a day away, he must take steps quickly to fan the flame, or he would lose her forever.

“Well, of course I like you,” she said, as though it should have been obvious to him.

“But that does not explain why you allowed me to kiss you.”

Her eyes went wide, as though it had not occurred to her that she might be required to take a share of the blame for their indiscretion. “It was just a kiss under the mistletoe.”

“That was all it was to you, really?”

She knew quite well that it was no simple kiss. The dim light could not hide her blush. He reached out and touched a curl at her temple. “Suppose I were to kiss you here, tonight. There is no mistletoe to be found, so you would have no excuse for what happened. Would you allow it?”

“I should not,” she said, quietly.

“Should not is quite different from shall not. Let us see which one applies.” He bent his head to her, and kissed her.

It took no coaxing to get an ardent response. Her mouth was open. Her tongue met his. Her body strained to be touched. He need have no fear that she preferred another, for it was plain when they were alone that she wanted no one but him. He pulled her hips tight to cradle them against his erection, wondering how much she knew of a man’s desire and how perfectly she might satisfy it. Did he dare to show her tonight?

“Please,” she whispered, brushing her lips against his cheek. “You were right. It was more than a kiss. Do not tempt me to go further. My parents are here. If we are discovered…” She pushed his hand away from where it hovered by her breast.

His curiosity was satisfied. She’d admitted that she cared for him, and had been moved by him. He should make an apologetic withdrawal and escort her back to find her parents. But it would be far better to give her another reason to refuse, when Stratford finally made his offer. Robert kissed her gently on the forehead and ran a finger along the top edge of her gown, ruffling the lace that lay against her skin. “I suppose this means that you will not let me see the loveliness of your breasts. It will take more time getting you back into your gown than it will take me to have you out of it.”

“Robert!” She said his name in an urgent whisper.

“You did not say no, just now, my sweet. If you wish to put me off, you will need to be clear about the fact.”

“It would be unwise,” she said with a sigh.

“But I wish to please you,” he said. “It will be the work of a few moments. Would you like that?”

“Very much,” she said with a shy smile, slipping her hand in his and squeezing his fingers as though seeking reassurance.

“Very well then. Come over here, by the fire.” He led her to a sofa, and slid to the floor on his knees before her.

“What are you doing?”

He lifted her hem. “You shall know in a moment,” he assured her. Her skirt and petticoats were up around her knees revealing dainty ankles and shapely, silk-clad calves. “It is just another kind of kiss. I promise you shall like it.” He pressed his lips to her kneecap. And her legs, which she’d held tightly together, parted so that he could slide a hand up the inside of her thigh.

She pushed back, trying to close them again, pressing a hand down to hold her skirt in place. “Robert, you cannot. We are not married.”

Yet,
he thought to himself with a smile.

“And if someone should discover us…”

“No one ever shall,” he assured her. “You shall be unchanged, I promise.” In body perhaps. But her spirit would be his forever. He withdrew his hand and kissed his own fingertips, and then dipped them below her hem and trailed them up her thighs. “This is not so very bad, is it?” he suggested, leaning forward and laying his cheek against the swell of her breast.

“No,” she said doubtfully and then gasped as his fingers found their mark, slipping easily between the wet folds of her body.

“I wish to touch you with my tongue, there. And there and there.” His fingers grazed lightly along the tops of her thighs and his thumb settled between them, teasing the hair between her legs for a moment before pressing inward.

“Why?” It was more of a gasp than a question. And she made no effort to avoid his questing hand.

“My dear Anne,” he said. “I wish to have something from you that no other man will ever have. I know when I look into your eyes that mine were not the first lips to kiss you. And tonight I dare not seek the ultimate gift. There is no understanding between us. Some things must be saved for the man you would marry.”

“But this other kiss?” Her voice was slow and hoarse, drowsy, as though she was slipping into the spell that he cast. Her body relaxed and her legs spread farther offering no resistance.

“It will be our secret. No matter what else happens, we will have this.”

“Please,” she said, and it was a desperate plea for release.

“Of course,” he said, soothing her. He’d raised her skirt until he could see all of her, pink and glistening in the light from the banked fire, and watched her trembling as the chill air touched her, letting the warmth of his hand be a contrast to it. Then, with one last look at her beautiful face, he buried his face in the musky center of her, drawing the lips of her sex into his mouth and lapping eagerly between them.

Her body went rigid with the shock of it, and she cried out his name. He could feel the muscles of her thighs twitching and massaged them with his hands, forcing them to relax as he flicked lazily with his tongue, first against the little bud of her passion and then at the opening which would be his ultimate goal. He made a few tentative thrusts with his tongue and she gasped and rocked to evade him then wound her fingers in his hair. But she did not push him away, only dragging him forward to the place where he had begun.

Very well then, the lady knew what she wanted, and he was happy to give it to her. He swirled about it, whispering, kissing, sucking, as she murmured softly, “Oh. Oh. Oh.” Then he slid a hand up her leg to push two fingers into her as deeply as he could go. Her muscles clenched on him like a vise as she lost control and gave herself up to him, heart and soul.

She whimpered as he gave her a final, brief kiss and stroked her with his hand, almost as one might soothe a pet. Would that she could do the same to him. While she was clearly sated, he was anything but. He’d been hungering for her since their first day together, and now desire was roaring inside him, tearing at his soul. If he could not have her, here and now, he longed for a solitary release while the taste of her was still on his lips.

He laid his head against her knee for a moment, praying that this was but a temporary parting from her body. Then he pushed her skirts out of her lap, and straightened them over her legs. And he waited, at her feet, for her reaction.

“You should not have done that,” she said at last. Her eyes were bright with some emotion that he could not read.

“But if I did not, you would marry Joseph,” he said. “You do not love him. You love me, or you never would have permitted what just occurred.”

“I am still going to marry Joseph,” she said. “There is nothing else for me to do. But you have made it so much more difficult.”

He swore, low vehement oaths that made her flinch. But he did not care if his words hurt her. He had been sure, only a moment ago, that there would be nothing in the world that could part them, now that he had proven to her how it would be between them. Why, though he was on his knees before her like a supplicant, did she still wish for another?

Before he could speak, a voice called from the hall, “Anne?”

“Here, Mother.” She gave him a frantic look and he threw himself away from her, back into the darkest corner of the room as the door opened.

“What are you doing in here, of all places?”

“I felt feverish and hoped a brief nap would help me. I am sorry if I have caused difficulty…” She drew back into the shadows as well so that her mother could not see the tears shining on her lashes.

“Well, come on then. The carriage is almost ready.”

“A moment to compose myself, please. Then I will come.”

Her mother gave a sigh. “Very well, then. But Mr. Stratford has already retired. It is not yet our place to linger too long.” She withdrew from the room, and Robert heard her footsteps retreating down the hall.

He waited a moment before shutting the door. Then he returned to Anne’s side. She was weeping in earnest now and he put a hand on her shoulder to comfort her. “Am I the reason for these tears, Anne?”

“It is not you,” she sobbed. “It is everything. I do not know what to do.”

“You must cry off,” he said. “Tell your parents you cannot marry Stratford.

“They will not want to hear,” she said with a fresh sob.

“Then tell him,” Robert said. “I have confronted him on the subject. He will not break off, at this late date, for your sake. If you do not end it for yourself, it is quite hopeless. I will not speak, if you say nothing, no matter how much I might wish to. I have said more than enough, already. You must be the strong one, Anne.”

“And I never was,” she answered, not looking up. “Perhaps if Mary was here.”

She had mentioned her late sister before, when they had first met. It seemed that the Clairemonts subsided into a place of perpetual grief over the loss. Mary had become the ghost at the feast that blighted the family’s happiness. But what a child that was five years in the grave had to do with the current situation, he was not sure. “Then the lot would have fallen to her. Or it might never have occurred at all. But it does not matter. She is dead and gone, much as no one wishes to acknowledge the fact. You cannot rely on her for help. You must be the one to speak, Anne.”