Lady Beauchamp's Proposal (20 page)

He laughed and took the glass she had been
sipping from—his glass—away from her. “I’m afraid we’ll have to
share this. Before you came back, I’d set about drinking myself
into a stupor. This is probably the last glass. Unless you’d like
me to ring for Roberts to fetch us some more.” He immediately
regretted his words.

“You wouldn’t,” she whispered, her face
blanching.

He reached forward and twisted a lock of her
silken hair around his finger. “No. I wouldn’t. Considering what
I’m going to do with you next, I wouldn’t want there to be any
interruptions.”

What
was
he going to do with her?

A shiver of nervous anticipation tingled
over every inch of Elizabeth’s skin as Lord Rothsburgh—James—let a
lock of her hair slowly unravel and slide off one long finger. He
offered her his glass, and she took it, taking another sip—the rich
red wine mingled on her tongue with another taste—the delicious,
salty taste of him.

Elizabeth was quietly pleased with his
reaction to her lovemaking. She had wanted to please him, and this
was the only act she knew that she was particularly adept
at—according to Hugh at any rate. She hoped that the marquess would
remember that she was good at something, even if she turned out to
be a disappointment in all other respects.

And she also hoped and prayed that Lord
Rothsburgh wouldn’t disappoint her like Hugh always had. It was
probably unfair of her to be placing such high expectations on one
man—that he would be able to fulfill her when her husband had never
been able to. But she so wanted to experience a climax when she was
with a man. And given that Rothsburgh could arouse her so
effortlessly—just being in the same room with him, aroused her—she
knew if she was actually physically capable of reaching that
ultimate peak with someone, he would be the one to take her
there.

She was risking everything—her very soul—to
experience such a wondrous thing.

She glanced over at Lord
Rothsburgh—
James
(she must remember to call him that)—and
let her eyes feast upon the glorious sight of his naked upper
body—the long, lean lines and planes of rigid muscle, bone and
sinew—gilded by the firelight. The Prince of Darkness, the Great
Tempter indeed. Her gaze then drifted lower along the tantalizing
line of black hair that ran from navel to groin, to the opening in
his trousers where his spent cock still lay exposed in a nest of
dark curls. Even in that state, she still marveled at the length
and width of him. Had she really taken so much of him into her
mouth?

He noticed where her gaze drifted, and his
mouth tilted into a smile at one corner.

“Don’t worry, Beth. I’ll be ready again
soon.” And sure enough, within a second or two, his cock did indeed
start to twitch and swell before her very eyes.

Oh
. Elizabeth pushed a strand of hair
away from her face with her free hand. And then shrieked as a sharp
spike of panic speared through her. “Oh my God. My hair. There must
be pins everywhere.” She had to find her hairpins. She couldn’t let
the staff find them all over the floor. What would they think?

Elizabeth knew exactly what they’d think and
as much as she didn’t want it to matter, it still did.

She hastily placed the wine glass down on
the hearth, and began to crawl about the floor, looking and feeling
for the pieces of thin wire. Rothsburgh was laughing; aside from
hearing his low chuckle, out of the corner of her eye she could
also see him bending forward at the waist, his ridged stomach
muscles contracting with mirth.

She shot him a glare. “Don’t laugh. Help me,
God damn you.”

He immediately bit his lip, clearly trying
to look contrite—but failing abysmally. Laughter still danced in
his dark brown eyes. “I’m sorry, Beth. I’ll help. It’s just that
after what you and I just did…Well, it’s amusing to see you
scrabbling about so.” He roughly buttoned his breeches and then
joined her on hands and knees, and within a few minutes, they had a
small pile of a dozen hairpins.

She frowned then looked at Rothsburgh.
“Thank you. But there were more, I think.”

“They’re probably in the drawing room near
the piano. I did make a frightful mess of your hair when I kissed
you the first time. I’ll get them.”

He returned within half a minute,
brandishing the wayward pins and deposited them in her hand,
amusement still tugging at the corner of his mouth. She slipped
them into her gown’s pocket along with the others, trying to think
of something both witty and cutting to say, but in the end, she
simply smiled back at him. She couldn’t have explained why, but she
suddenly felt uncommonly happy.

Rothsburgh’s eyes suddenly softened and he
reached out to tuck the same errant lock of hair behind her ear.
“Beth, I would love to take out the rest of those pins. Would you
let me?”

“Of course, my…James,” she said softly,
quite mesmerized by his heavily muscled chest and arms as he moved
a step closer. He gently pushed his fingers into the wild tumbling
mass of her hair, searching for pins and releasing the snags, until
her disheveled locks fell freely across her shoulders and down her
back.

“Perfect,” he murmured, then bent and placed
a gentle, almost chaste kiss upon her lips.

Surprisingly, even though her earlier brazen
behavior should preclude her from doing so, Elizabeth
blushed—perhaps because of his praise, perhaps because of the
caring, more intimate sentiment with which he had bestowed the
kiss. She wasn’t sure, but she suddenly felt quite vulnerable being
bathed by his warm regard. She was reminded of the time he had felt
her forehead for fever, and it suddenly occurred to her why she
found these more tender moments difficult to deal with. They
reminded her of what she had been missing for so long in her life,
and what she could never, ever contemplate sharing with
James—
love
.

Elizabeth didn’t know how long this
affaire
would last, but if she had any sense at all, she
would break it off and start again somewhere else, sooner rather
than later, before she felt too much for this man.

That’s where the real danger had lain all
along.

“Why are you suddenly so sad, my angel?”
James stroked her flushed cheek with the back of his hand, pulling
her from her maudlin thoughts.

She summoned a smile. “It’s nothing.” She
placed her right hand gently against the wide plane of his chest,
then raked her fingernails lightly across his hot skin, watching
his nipples pucker. He’d said that he was going to do something
else with her… “I’m just wondering what is going to come next.”

He grasped her hand and raised it to his
lips. And then frowned. “Beth, your wedding ring…”

“I…I took it off,” she explained, trying to
keep her tone light, to downplay the significance of such an act.
“After I made my decision—to be with you—it didn’t seem right to
wear it anymore. I mean, I don’t
want
to wear it
anymore.”

“I’m honored,” he said gravely, holding her
eyes. Then quite deliberately he raised her ring finger to his
mouth and drew it inside, sucking it gently and laving it with his
tongue, his eyes never leaving hers. She gasped at the flagrant
intimacy, the delicious wickedness of what he did as liquid warmth
flooded her lower belly, and made her slick between the legs.

Somehow she managed to make her voice work.
“I think it’s time for whatever it is that you want to do next, my
lord.”

* * * *

“I agree whole-heartedly, my lady. And I
think we should retire to your bedchamber so I can show you exactly
what I have in mind.”

Beth raised her delicately arched eyebrows a
fraction. “My bedchamber?”

Rothsburgh grinned. “Well, I don’t mind
undressing you here…”

“All right, all right. My bedchamber then.”
She blushed again and looked more than a little flustered. He
decided he liked it when she blushed. And he intended to make her
blush a whole lot more before the night was through.

He retrieved his shirt from the floor and
tossed it on. Although most of the staff would have probably
retired for the night by now, it wouldn’t do to be seen striding
around the castle in a shirtless state in the company of a
disheveled Mrs. Eliott.

“Come,” he said, taking her hand and tugging
her toward the door. He knew he was being impatient and demanding,
but he really didn’t want to waste another minute of this precious
night. She followed him willingly though, through the gallery, up
the stairs and along the hall until they were in her room.

He locked the door and turned to face her,
his beautiful Beth.

Her hand was still in his, but he felt her
fingers imperceptibly stiffen, and he noticed she was breathing
quickly—was it from the exertion of rushing up the stairs or
nerves? Yes—she was looking nervous. Even by the low light cast by
the fire and candles, he could see the shadows of worry behind her
wide grey eyes. Confusion tugged at his brain. After everything she
had done to him—she clearly wasn’t a novice, and she’d been married
for Christ’s sake—why was she suddenly looking so uneasy? Whatever
the reason, he was clearly going to have to proceed cautiously,
gently…slowly.

“Beth,” he murmured, bringing her hand to
his chest. And then he leant forward and kissed her oh so softly—a
brief, light touch only.

Her lips moved to return the kiss, but when
he drew back, he could see she was still edgy.

Tilting her chin gently upward, he searched
her eyes. “Are you having second thoughts about this…about us?” He
couldn’t hide the concern from his voice. It would kill him if she
pulled away now.

“No…I mean…I suppose I’m just a little
nervous. I’ve never been with anyone else. And it’s been a long
time…months, in fact, since I…”

“Ah.” Why hadn’t he thought of that himself?
He carefully cradled her face in his hands. He would kiss away her
doubts and her resistance. He was certain he could. He had to.
“We’ll take it slowly then. I’ll stop at anytime…if you want me
to…although I might die in the process.”

She smiled at that. “Well, we wouldn’t want
that now.”

Taking her response as an encouraging sign,
he stroked his thumbs along the sensitive flesh below her ears, and
was rewarded with a shiver. “I just want you to remember, Beth,
that this time, my pleasure is your pleasure.”

* * * *

Elizabeth’s breath caught at his words, and
a deep thrill coursed through her, all the way to her very
bones.

Her pleasure.

Hugh had never cared about her pleasure.
Before he’d gotten bored, he had taken from her, and had always
left her wanting. But Rothsburgh—James—wanted her to experience
pleasure.

“Show me,” she whispered.

He did not hesitate. His mouth was on hers
in the next instant, his lips and tongue caressing and teasing her
gently. She tasted him back—the faint taste of Burgundy and the
moist sliding heat of his mouth, the smell of his skin, all melded
together and flooded her senses. When he pulled away she almost
moaned with disappointment and she realized she had become
hopelessly addicted to his kisses already.

He pulled her over toward the bed, his eyes
dark and mysterious, locked on her face. “Turn around Beth,” he
said, his voice a deep, rich purr.

She immediately acquiesced. Sweeping her
hair across one shoulder, he placed his lips on the nape of her
neck, and she gasped at the feather-light contact. Her skin was so
sensitive, she could feel goose-bumps everywhere, and her nipples
contracted to hard aching points. He slid the jet buttons of her
horrid, bombazine gown undone, kissing the length of her spine,
down to the edge of her shift and corset. His large, warm hands
then slid across her shoulders and down her arms, easing the stiff
black fabric away from her body until the gown fell to the
floor.

Then his clever mouth was back at her neck,
tracing a line of kisses from there up to one ear, and then down
along her shoulder whilst his hands floated lightly over the bare
skin of her arms, creating tingles of exquisite sensation wherever
he brushed. He was taking his time with her, but it was fast
becoming torturous when her very core was throbbing with
anticipation. She almost couldn’t bear it. She needed more.

She turned her head to the side. “My
corset…please…”

His lips spread into a smile upon her skin.
“Now, now. Patience, my dear Beth.” His breath was hot against her
sensitized flesh. Who would have thought that words and breath
could themselves be a caress?

Nevertheless, he heeded her plea, and she
felt him pulling the laces undone until the lightly boned garment
joined her gown on the floor. Before he could stop her—he was not
having it all his own way—she turned around and pulled his head
down for another kiss. This time he wasn’t so gentle with her, and
she reveled in the knowledge that perhaps she was tempting him to
lose his control just a little bit too.

His hands came to rest on her waist, then
pressed up and over her ribs until his palms found her aching
breasts at last. She moaned softly into his mouth as he pulled and
rolled her nipples with his fingers and thumbs through the thin
linen and lace of her shift. Was this pleasure or the sweetest of
tortures? Whatever it was, she didn’t want it to stop.

He fumbled with the ribbon at the front of
her shift, and she raised her hands and tugged it loose for him,
impatient for his hands to be on her. But he didn’t push his hands
beneath the sagging linen, he took a step back, then pulled the
garment over her head before tossing it away.

Now she was naked except for her silk
stockings and slippers. She blushed, holding her breath and stole a
look at James’s face. Would he think her beautiful? Would he think
her too wanton because she hadn’t worn drawers? She so didn’t want
to see the desire fade from his eyes.