A Question of Impropriety (14 page)

It was a picnic. A real picnic. Not the wild seduction she had imagined. She wanted to laugh. Had she really expected any thing different?

‘You make it sound tempting.' Diana forced her shoulders to relax. She could control her body and, for this one day, she wanted to be with him. Nothing would happen if she did not want it to. She trusted him. ‘I have not had potted cheese since…since before London.'

‘You will enjoy the picnic.' His eyes turned serious and his fingers gave hers one last squeeze, then let go. ‘And,
Diana, we return to the house when you say the word. You are in charge.'

She followed him around to the side of the grotto. There in a sunlit grass hollow, a table with chairs had been placed. A starched white linen cloth lay over the table protecting it. With a flourish, Brett lifted the cloth and revealed the picnic. As promised, cold meat pies vied with salads and little pots of shrimp. A bowl full of late season fruits sat in the very centre—blackberries, apples and pears. The seed cake stood on its own little pedestal. There was even a crystal pitcher full of lemonade with mint floating on the top. The sort of picnic one might serve a maiden aunt. She gave him a quick glance under her eye lashes. Her stays felt far too tight.

‘Does the picnic not please you?'

‘I had thought it would be more…' She looked at her hands. She could hardly confess to secretly hoping for a bottle of wine and a blanket on the ground. Maybe grapes. She had thought him the con sum mate rake, but nothing here screamed seduction. It was all so ordinary. ‘It is lovely, Brett. Thank you for thinking of it. Every single detail has been looked after.'

‘Everything is done properly.' He pulled out a chair. ‘If you would care to take your seat, we can begin. I find walking works up an appetite.'

‘It looks perfectly splendid, particularly the seed cake.' A lump grew in her throat. ‘I can't think when anyone took so much trouble over my pleasure.'

‘It is
my pleasure
to look after you.'

A lock of hair fell across his forehead. Without allowing her mind time to react, she reached forward and smoothed it away. His fingers curled over hers, held them there for an instant, then let go. He undid the ribbons of her bonnet and lowered it to the ground.

‘I wouldn't want it to get crushed.' Then he pulled off her gloves, finger by finger. Repeated the gesture with his. ‘Nor have these mussed.'

She started to speak, but he put his finger to her lips and drew her to him again.

‘Bonnets are a nuisance. And gloves can get soiled.' His breath tickled her ear, sending a fresh wave of heat through her. ‘You should not have to worry about the sun. The table is in the shade.'

His hands cupped the back of her head and he lowered his mouth. ‘Good enough to eat.'

‘Brett,' she whispered as his breath once more touched her lips, made her remember.

‘Enough talking for now.'

Hot. Insistent. His lips plundered hers with a carnal desire. No longer seeking, but demanding. Demanding a response, a response her body was only too ready to give. Her arms went around him, held him there. Her body touching his.

His steady fingers undid her pelisse and pushed it off her shoulders. ‘You looked warm in it.'

His lips travelled lower, nibbling at the column of her throat and then tracing a line down to her lace fichu. Grazing her skin. A wave of molten heat washed over her.

The lace fell to the ground unheeded as his mouth traced the neckline of her gown. Her breasts grew full and strained against the confines of her stays. He cupped them with his hands, gently rubbed his knuckles over the cloth and smiled as the nipples puckered. Her back arched, seeking his touch. Wave after wave of sensation racked her, leaving her knees weak. Her hands came up and buried them selves in his thick crisp hair. She held on for support. Her fingers traced the outline of his ear.

‘May I?' he whispered. ‘Please?'

Beyond speech, she inclined her head, wondering what she had agreed to. She only knew that she wanted him to continue. She could not bear it if he stopped. His hands slipped beneath the cloth, stroking her fevered skin. A feather light touch. And the already tight nipples hardened further.

A gasp came from her throat and she teetered on the brink of an abyss. Teetered and then fell as his fingers explored the outlines of her breasts. Her hands clutched his shoulder for support. Her body sought the comfort of his.

‘Do you like this?' She could only nod in agreement as her eyes watched how his hands moved over and under her breasts. He leant forwards. His breath fanned her ear. ‘You will like this more. I promise.'

She wet her lips with her tongue and tried to think of a sensible answer as his fingers found her nipples again. Catching them between his thumb and fore finger, he rolled them. Pleasure thrummed through her. And she knew she was powerless to stop. She needed this. Everything. Here. Now.

‘Yes,' she breathed and then her body convulsed.

‘Shall I stop?' He deliberately withdrew his hands, held them hovering over her breast. Tantalisingly close. If she breathed deeply, they would rise, and graze his palm. She tried and his hands moved upwards. ‘To touch or not to touch.'

She shook her head. ‘Are you planning on tormenting me?'

‘For as long as possible.' His lips traced a line down her throat, stopping where her bodice kissed her skin. They slipped under the cloth and touched her naked flesh. Warm. Hot. Sensuous touches. Slowly he repeated the manoeuvre. Her hands reached up and buried them selves in his crisp
hair. Each tiny movement sent shooting sparks through her body.

‘I…'

‘Hush.'

With one swift movement, he pulled her bodice down and freed one breast from its confines. Nestled it in his palm. ‘Perfect.'

His hot breath touched her tightly furled nipple and then his cool tongue traced its edges, sampling. Finally his mouth sucked, taking the whole of the dusky rose areola inside. Her whole body became infused with heat. Her knees gave way and she knew the only thing keeping her upright was his hands on her waist. The ache that had been growing inside her opened into a throb, became insistent and she knew she needed something more than this. And all the while his tongue swirled and suckled at her breast.

An inarticulate noise sounded in the back of her throat. He lifted his head. One hand smoothed an errant curl off her now bare shoulder. ‘This is only the first course.'

‘There is more than one course?'

‘There is always more than one.' He scooped her up and deposited her on the linen cloth that had covered the table and now lay in the crisp grass. He knelt beside her. She lifted her hands and loosened his neck cloth. Her fingers fumbled slightly, but he allowed her to take it off.

‘I want to give you pleasure. Always.' He kissed the side of her neck.

She tried not to think that
always
was a debatable term. ‘I can't think beyond the next breath.'

His hands stroked down her side and caught the hem of her gown, revealing her white stockings and lace drawers. She was exposed to the cool afternoon sun. His
eyes roamed down her body. ‘Very prettily arranged. Remain still. I want to savour the feast.'

‘Aren't you over dressed?' She hardly recognised her own voice.

‘Only if my lady thinks so.' He shrugged out of his coat. The white ness of his shirt contrasted with the darkness of his hair. He himself propped up on an elbow, regarding her with an amused expression. ‘Anything else?'

Giving into instinct, she pressed her lips to the triangle at the base of his throat. Felt the tempo of his heart beat with her tongue. She withdrew and then tasted again, sampling the sultry smooth skin.

Her hands pulled at his shirt, freeing it from his breeches. She lifted it and ran her fingers along his smooth skin and felt the power of his muscles tremble beneath her fingertips.

He rolled over, on top of her. It felt right, and she could feel the strength of his arousal moving against her hips. She lifted her body to meet the welcome weight of him. His lips re claimed hers and her body rose to meet the force of his arousal as it hit the apex of her thighs. He nuzzled and suckled until her body was racked with need. Her head thrashed and her hands sought him, but he thrust them away.

‘Patience has its own reward.'

His fingers continued inexorably down wards, pushing aside the thin folds of her drawers, weaving between the gap in the material and burying them selves in her nest of curls. She gasped as his finger slid inside her. He stroked one shuddering stroke. Withdrew. Returned again, deeper this time. Her hips lifted.

‘Tight. You are so tight,' he murmured. ‘I dreamt of this. You, innocent beneath me.'

‘Brett…' Her hands pressed against his chest, in tend
ing to push him away, but she found her arms had not the strength. A sudden dark panic filled her. He would discover her secret. She should tell him first, but she couldn't bear the look in his eyes when he knew. And she wanted this. This was so very different from… She summoned all her courage. ‘I…'

His fingers stilled, lifted. ‘Shall I stop? Or do we go on to the next course.'

She wet her lips and tried once more. ‘Brett…'

‘Hush,' he whispered and his mouth returned to hers. His tongue mimicked the play of his fingers and she felt the hot need grow within her. Consume her.

Her hands slipped under his shirt and found the smooth muscles of his chest. She rubbed her fingers across his nipples and heard his breathing become ragged. He reached down, guided her hand to his erection. Instinctively she curled her hand around it. Hot. Hard but smooth. ‘See what you are doing to me? I want to be inside you.'

Desire flooded through her. Was it so wrong of her to want this? She reached up and cradled his face between her hands, looking him directly in the eye. ‘Yes.'

He raised his body up and positioned himself between her thighs. She felt a nudge and he slid in a little way. He stopped and his eyes flew to hers. He started to pull away, but she raised her hips, keeping him inside her. Slowly he went further. Then suddenly as if he could bear it no longer, he fully entered her.

She stiffened, remembering the previous horridness. The dark hole of her memory opened up and threatened to swallowed her. She waited for the pain, then noticed he had stopped moving.

‘Did I hurt you?'

Silently she shook her head, hating the sudden rush of
shame. He must have guessed. Did he know what she was? What had been done to her? She breathed again.

‘It will get better. Relax, sweet heart.'

‘I am trying.' Her laugh sounded halfway between a sob and a cry.

His lips brushed her temple. Softly. Beguilingly. Flooding her with warmth at his unexpected tenderness. ‘All will be well. I want you too much to stop.'

He began to move within her and she forgot every thing as the waves of pleasure in creased. Increased and then crested. Her hips began to move in time with his. Inside her, she felt him slide, and knew she had to move faster. A cry was torn from her throat and she heard his answer.

 

Much later, Brett looked down at Diana. Her long lashes lay dark against the cream of her skin. She had fallen asleep in his arms. He had not known what to expect, but she had exceeded all his expectations.

He made a wry face. From her kisses, he'd expected a virgin, but her response showed she had been in expertly taken. He could well imagine the lies she had been told. And her reaction to the truth. She had not worn the caps and the awful gowns to mourn the man, but to hide from men. Somehow, he had succeeded in breaking through her defences and un wrap ping the passionate woman underneath.

His insides twisted and he hated the way he had seduced her. When she had kissed him by the grotto, his earlier plan of a light romance had vanished, buried beneath the overwhelming need to touch her and to possess her fully. Luckily, she had responded with passion. He wanted to think the passion was for him and him alone.

She would forget other men. He might not have been the first, but he
would be
the last.

Mentally, he rehearsed his speech. He had never been tempted to say the words before and he wanted them to be right. He imagined her joy when she discovered he was prepared to give up the habit of a lifetime to marry her. He would ask, but properly. He wanted her to know that his decision was not spur of the moment, that he had not sought to irrevocably bind her to him. Everything was going to be done properly. He would show her the absolute respect she deserved. He needed her in his life with an intensity that scared him. Earlier, when he planned this picnic, he had convinced himself that if this did happen, it would be enough to break the spell. He knew now that it would never be enough.

He stood up, dressed, planned every move, every word and then placed a kiss on her temple. ‘Time to stir, sweetheart.'

Her eyes flew open. She stretched her arms above her head. The temp tress personified. His body leapt in response. And he knew he wanted her again, that he would never tire of her.

‘I thought perhaps it was a dream.'

‘No dream. Reality. Very much a reality.'

‘But it remains our secret. Never to be mentioned again.' She brought her knees up to her chest and peeped at him through a curtain of hair. Her voice held a faint wobble of sadness. Her eyes showed a bruised vulnerability, a wariness that had not been there before. They became wild with some emotion that he could not recognise. ‘You must promise me that. Swear it, Brett! Swear on your horses and all your carriages!'

‘I shall not be telling anyone. I would never treat you like that.' Brett looked at her, perplexed. She gave a sigh and her eyes turned to ice. He ran a hand through his hair. This was not how the conversation was supposed go. He
swallowed hard and tried a different tack. ‘That is to say, it should remain between us. A happy memory. Something to be cherished.'