A Lady's Guide to Skirting Scandal (7 page)

She smiled back at him, reveling in this heady feeling of sensuous power. She’d never undressed a man before. Hadn’t even stopped to consider just how gloriously wicked it would feel to loosen the top button of a well-worn linen shirt. How it would feel to pull the hem from the waist of his breeches, sliding her hands underneath the fabric to explore the flat ridges and planes and hard muscles of his body, which was so foreign from hers. Her hands slid over his chest and shoulders and down to his abdomen, his skin hot beneath her touch.

Impatient to see what her hands had discovered, she lifted his shirt over his head, Nate raising his arms so that she could pull it from his body. Heavens, but he was magnificent. Like one of those marble carvings she had once seen, brought back from somewhere in Italy. It made her want to immortalize him somehow, in paint or ink. Or simply explore him further.

“Touch me,” he said, echoing her own command, and she looked up at him uncertainly.

“Where?”

He smiled at her, and caught her hand, placing it across his chest. Beneath her fingers, she could feel the hard pebble of his nipple, could feel the hard gallop of his heart. “The same places I touched you. The same way I touched you.”

Viola put both her hands against the muscles, letting her fingers circle and play with his nipples. There was a scattering of hair that spread over the breadth of his chest, gathering to a V and trailing down the center of his abdomen. She let her fingers follow that trail, and she heard his sharp intake of breath as she got to the waistband of his breeches. Feeling daring, she leaned into him, pressing her lips along the edge of his jaw, the hollow of his throat, before closing them over one of his nipples. She swirled her tongue over the tip and was rewarded with a soft groan.

“Yes,” he whispered.

She turned her attention to the other, letting her fingers drop farther, tentatively exploring the bulging ridge straining at the fall of his breeches.

Nate pulled away slightly, his hands finding hers and holding them still. His eyes searched hers, as if trying to find the right words.

“I’m not totally ignorant,” Viola said, looking up at him. “I read the appropriate section of the anatomy text.”

He let out a shaky breath that bordered somewhere between a groan and a laugh. “Of course you did.”

“I’d like to see all of you. The way you can see all of me.”

“Yes,” he whispered again, and released her hands.

She unfastened the buttons at the fall of his breeches, pushing them down over his hips and letting them drop. He stepped to the side, and Viola gazed at him in wonder. The ridges of muscle that defined his chest continued over his abdomen and cut over his hips, disappearing into a thick thatch of pubic hair from which his erection jutted.

“Touch me,” he commanded again, though his voice was hoarse.

Viola swallowed and reached out to stroke the length of him, the softness of the skin surprising her. She closed her hand around him, her thumb exploring the tip, and she heard him suck in his breath. Beneath her touch, she could feel him jerk.

He reached down and caught her hand, sliding it down and then back up the shaft. He shuddered and then pulled her hand away.

She looked up at him, uncertain again.

“That feels too good,” he said to her, kissing her hard. “And we haven’t got to you yet.” Gently he pushed her back to the narrow berth, supporting her waist as he lowered her on top of the blankets. She wriggled to the side, and he came to kneel over her, one knee at her hip, the other wedged between her thighs.

He was searching her face, his eyes roaming over her body. “So perfect,” he murmured, running a hand from the hollow of her throat, over her navel, and stopping against the triangle of curls. Viola felt the pressure within her ratchet tighter. She pushed her hips forward, not caring if he thought her brazen or desperate. She wanted him to touch her. Needed him to touch her, the way he had before. The way that had released this razor edge of torment and made her shatter into tiny little pieces.

“Please,” she whispered.

“Open your legs,” he instructed.

She obeyed instantly and willingly, and he made a sound of approval. He dragged his hand through her sex, pushing just at the right spot that made her thighs tremble and her hands clutch at the bedclothes beneath her. Viola squeezed her eyes shut, the pounding waves of pleasure threatening to drown her. She was so close, his deft fingers bringing her almost to the edge, retreating before she could tip over. She writhed with impatience.

He shifted suddenly, drawing away, and Viola almost wept with frustration. She opened her eyes to see him leaning over the bed, before he straightened and held the wine bottle in his hands. Very gently, he tipped it, allowing a small amount of the golden liquid to splash between her breasts and over her stomach, down to the apex of her thighs.

Viola gasped at the strange sensation, the wine cool against her heated skin. “What are you doing?” she asked breathlessly.

“Tasting you,” Nate replied, setting the bottle aside.

He skimmed his fingers over her torso, through the drops that clung to her skin and traced the outline of her lips. He bent then, claiming her mouth, and she could taste the sweetness of the wine and something darker. He kissed her hungrily, his hands spanning her ribs, before his mouth dipped lower and his tongue set to work on her skin that was now on fire. She could feel his tongue sweeping over the mounds of her breasts, teasing, nipping, and sending bolts of renewed pleasure straight to the place that throbbed and ached between her legs.

Her fingers tangled in his hair, and he moved lower, sucking and laving the drops from her belly. He took his time, and as his tongue swirled into her navel, she tightened her fingers in his hair. His hands were grasping her hips now, tilting them toward him, maneuvering her so that she was fully exposed. She closed her eyes, wanting him, needing him to…what? Wanting him to—

Her back arched as his mouth closed over her sex, his tongue doing what his fingers had failed to finish. It was shocking, it was wicked, and it was oh so perfect. She was panting now, her head tipped to the side, her body beginning its spiral deep within her. “Nate,” she whispered.

He suddenly withdrew from his ministrations, and Viola’s eyes snapped open, but in a heartbeat, he was on top of her, his weight settling around her, his mouth on hers.

At the folds of her sex, she could feel the head of his erection pressing into her heat. He slid in slightly, and Viola wrapped her legs around the backs of his, the ecstasy that he had ignited now erupting into flame. He withdrew and pressed in again, driving deeper this time. She wanted more from him, wanted more of that tormenting pressure to balance that which was threatening to consume her from the inside out. Her hands ran down his back, over his buttocks, and she urged him harder, farther into her. His breath was coming in harsh gasps, but it was his turn to obey.

With a muffled groan, he pushed deep within her.

Viola clutched his back and shifted her hips, adjusting to the feel of him. He filled her, stretched her, and it was a sensation unlike anything she could ever have imagined. This man, in this moment, belonged to her, as much as she was his. An emotion she didn’t understand expanded throughout her chest, making breathing difficult and making her eyes blur.

He was still kissing her, a kiss that Viola understood was a paradigm of restraint, and suddenly she didn’t want restraint. She wanted Nathaniel and everything he might give her. With nothing in between them. She rocked her hips, feeling him slide within her, and he groaned softly again.

“Teach me,” she whispered against his lips.

He withdrew gently before pushing in again. One of his hands slid beneath her hips, tilting her slightly so that he was seated so very deep within her, a glorious friction right where it needed to be. The throb within her built, only this time it surrounded him, her inner walls clenching and welcoming him as he started to move faster. She was powerless to do anything but hang on to him, letting each shock of pleasure carry her further away from reason. Each thrust sent her careening closer to the edge until suddenly she was flung into space, falling from a great height. Her body came apart, a pulsing explosion that made every muscle clench and tighten, and sent pleasure surging through every fiber of her body.

He captured her whimper in his mouth, the rhythm he had set increasing in tempo as he drove into her, before withdrawing completely and collapsing against her. Against her abdomen, she could feel the hard length of his erection jerk and pulse, a warmth spreading between their bodies. He was breathing hard, his body covered in sweat, and with a start, she realized she was too.

Presently, he raised his head and rolled from her. He plucked his shirt from the pile of discarded clothing and gently wiped her belly before coming to lie beside her again. He reached over and smoothed her hair back from her damp forehead.

“How do you feel?” he asked.

“Are you asking as a surgeon or a lover?” Viola replied, a thrill coursing through her at the word
lover
.

“Are you being difficult on purpose?” he asked, a smile reaching the corners of his eyes.

“If you want better answers, ask better questions,” she teased.

Nate leaned forward and kissed her, a hungry, thorough kiss that left her gasping. “Very well. Did I pleasure you?” he asked, and his voice was low and seductive.

“Yes,” Viola whispered.

“Did you like what I did with my hands?”

“Yes.”

“With my tongue?”

Viola could feel herself blushing, but she answered him anyway. “Yes.”

“Would you like me to do it again?”

“God, yes.”

“Good.”

The honesty of this conversation was breathtaking. She found herself grinning at him even as she wondered how she could ever go back to the ballrooms and drawing rooms of London, where conversation was arranged in layers of innuendo and double meanings. Where every statement had a potential pitfall that might trap the unwary and earn the wrath or spite of someone for a perceived insult.

“What’s wrong?” Nate asked, his blue eyes searching hers.

Belatedly, Viola realized her grin had faded, and Nate had seen it. “I was thinking about home.”

“Perhaps you should think less about home,” he suggested, running a finger over her shoulder. “I hate to see you sad.”

“I’m not sad,” she said. “Just…”

“Unhappy?”

Viola made a face at him. “Isn’t that the same?”

“No.” Nate propped his elbow up and rested his head on his hand. “Sadness comes with loss that is through no fault of your own. Unhappiness comes when you realize that loss didn’t have to be a loss at all, had you only had the courage or the wisdom to change it. Unhappiness and regret are the same.”

Viola stared up at the beams overhead.

“Why are you here, Viola? On this ship, bound for New York?” Nate asked beside her.

Viola rolled over, away from Nate. She was suddenly mortified. “You mean why did my brother send me into exile?”

“I’m sorry I asked. It’s none of my business.” His hand was on her back, his voice apologetic.

Viola stared at the bulkhead. “I tried to marry a duke,” she mumbled, unsure why she was telling him this. He would think less of her. Though perhaps she deserved it.

“You tried to marry a duke?” Nate repeated, bewilderment obvious in his tone.

“The Duke of Worth. My brother’s friend. My friend.” Perhaps it was this that so shamed her now. That William Somerhall, Duke of Worth, had been a friend before she’d tried to selfishly exploit that.

“And he refused you?” Nate asked slowly.

“I tried to put him in a…difficult position,” she said dully.

“You tried to trap him.” Nate cut through to the stark truth.

Viola closed her eyes. Her brother had never spoken of what happened that night. When she had woken in her room the next morning, with her head pounding and her stomach churning from the champagne she had consumed, with her dress torn and covered in mud, with leaves and twigs tangled in her hair and her skin a patchwork of minute scratches, he had simply looked at her with disappointment. And told her to clean herself up and start packing.

“Did you love him?” Nate asked from behind her.

Viola turned onto her back again. “Would it have mattered?”

“Love can make people do strange things.” He was offering her an excuse, she knew, but she couldn’t take it.

“No. I didn’t love him. I tried to use him.”

“Mmmm.”

“You’re right, though. That love makes people do strange things. He married his mother’s hired companion,” she said presently.

“The duke did?”

“Yes.”

“Good Lord. That must have created quite a stir amongst the Almack’s set.”

“You have no idea.”

Out of the corner of her eyes, she saw Nate smile. “I think I like this duke.”

“You must think me a fool,” she said.

“You are not a fool,” he said, shifting abruptly and catching her chin in his hand, forcing her to look at him. “You made a mistake.”

“I lost a friend.”

“He’s not lost. He does deserve an apology, however.”

The emotion that Viola had felt flood through her chest earlier was squeezing into her lungs and heart again. “Yes. He does.” She held his eyes with hers. “Why are you so good to me?” she whispered.

“Because you are an extraordinary woman,” he said quietly. “If you would only stop comparing yourself and your talents to those who will never matter, to those who do not truly care about you, you would see what I see.”

Viola felt a tear slide down her cheek, but she made no effort to wipe it away.

“Come with me,” he said.

Viola blinked. “Where?”

“To Missouri.”

“I can’t.”

“You could.”

Viola was trying to find the words that would make Nate understand why that would be impossible. Except she couldn’t find them.

“Take a chance on yourself, Viola. Do something that you wish, not something that others wish for you.”

The idea was terrifying.