The Perfect Mistress (34 page)

"Why didn't you? Because I was too wealthy and noble a 'prospect' to let get away?" he said with a taunting edge.

"No." She looked down at her plate, refusing to say more. After a few moments he pushed his chair back forcefully and strode to the fireplace.

When she looked up, he was standing there with his legs braced and his arms crossed, staring at her.

"Why didn't you listen to him?"

How could she admit that she had thought he was generous and noble and compassionate and genuinely decent? That she was grateful for the restraint and the respect he had shown her? That she trusted him? That she was crazy about him? Instead, she gave him another truth… one a good bit less threatening.

"For the same reason I didn't tell you I had seen him. Because it was clear to me that he was just as determined to be wrong about you as you were to be wrong about him. Nothing I said about you made a difference to him, even though it was entirely the truth." When it struck her, she couldn't keep from saying it. "Come to think of it, you and Mr. Gladstone are really very much alike." The flare of anger in his eyes was immensely satisfying.

"You're determined to believe he is a hypocrite and a debauchee, despite the fact that he has tried three times—in his own way—to rescue me. And he refuses to believe that you could possibly behave in a decent and compassionate and helpful way… or that you could possibly be my friend."

Fearing she might have already revealed too much, she reached for her wine and took a drink, welcoming the warmth that seeped through her.

When she looked up, he was standing closer, and she quickly rose and put her chair between them.

The dark, unreadable expression on his face worried her. But whatever he had in mind, she was determined that he would at least hear the truth from her.

"Both you and Mr. Gladstone are more than eager to judge something by its outward appearance. But things are not always what they seem. I should think you, of all people, would know that. Who in their right mind would believe that you and I spent hours locked away together and were not lovers? Yet, it was true. Who would believe that while you and I were out alone together in your carriage all we did was talk and look for a husband for me? But that was just what we did." The fierceness in his face made her stomach quiver with dread, but she went on.

"And who would believe, looking at us now, that for a brief while we were really, truly friends?" She slid her gaze to his and her knees weakened.

"But we were." Her voice dropped to a dry whisper. "At least, I thought we were. And while it might look to you as if I conspired and schemed against you, I swear to you, I did not. I would never have done that to you, Pierce.

Or to me." The smile she gave him was self-mocking and tempered with pain. "You see… I knew you well enough to know that you would make a much better friend than a husband."

He knew it was a mistake to stand there listening to her. Her quiet, melodious voice. And her logic. And—dear God—she had a way with words. It just wasn't possible to pull away. She was so damned appealing.

And so earnest. And with every word she pulled up memories inside him: the time they spent together, the secrets and the laughter they shared. She called him a friend, and there was genuine regret in her voice. It was that trace of sadness, that longing for what had once been between them, that finally got to him.

Damn her. She
had
been his friend.

Now she was his wife.

Confusion roiled powerfully in him. Suddenly all he could see was the luscious pout of her mouth, the soft curves of her breasts. Suddenly all he could remember was the constant tension of wanting that he had kept in perilous balance with the pleasures of anticipation. All he could think was that tonight, the anticipation was finally over. He had the right—the obligation—to take her. Tonight she would be his. And tomorrow, with body sated and sanity restored, he could get on with his life.

An explosion of heat roared through his blood.

"You judge things by appearances too, sweetheart," he said, edging closer.

"What makes you so sure you won't like me as a husband? I may have hidden abilities… secret assets. What may seem like arrogance may be well-deserved confidence. What seems like worldliness may be experience that will serve you well. And what seems 'unpredictable' may keep you happily entertained tonight."

He came closer… until he was only a foot away… close, but not close enough.

"Try me as a husband, sweetness," his voice dropped to a husky, irresistible throb. "I might surprise you."

15

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T
he glint in his eyes, the subtle tightening of his shoulders, the way his lips parted and his hands clenched at his sides… She read those signs of arousal and realized that her lips felt thicker and more sensitive and her skin was warming in response. The sharpness of his tone and his accusations were being softened and blurred by the desire rising between them. How they had come to this point, face to face, in his bedchamber, in his house, didn't seem to matter as much as the fact that they were alone, at last, and aware of each other in the most elemental and compelling way… as a man, as a woman.

The tips of her breasts began to tingle, and deep in her body, that delicious tightening sensation was occurring again. With him only a foot away, looking at her as if she were a chocolate truffle, she was suddenly feeling echoes of all the wild and erotic sensations she had experienced three days before. It was as if her arousal had been just frozen in time, awaiting the proper moment and the right provocation to resume.

Her shoulders softened, and the dark centers of her eyes widened. Her lips reddened; she licked them, staring at his. He watched with an unholy surge of pleasure as she responded to the suggestion in his voice and his intensifying gaze. She wanted him. And he wanted her.

Perhaps she leaned toward him first; or perhaps he reached for her. They were suddenly in each other's arms, pressed hard together, kissing hungrily at first, then more responsively. He shifted his feet further apart to brace himself, and she arched slightly to rub the aching tips of her breasts against his ribs. He ran his hands roughly over her, claiming every part of her, feeling her shape through her garments, possessing the softness of her body and the willingness of her heart. She slipped her hands inside his jacket, ran them along his waist and up his back, absorbing some of his determined heat.

She felt the hard swelling of his desire against her body and realized from its proximity to her own sensitive woman's flesh that it would ultimately satisfy her intensifying desires. She pressed harder against it, against him, wanting to be closer, wanting to learn all there was to know… wanting to try him as a husband and a mate.

He felt the seeking movements of her body against his and drew back long enough to pull her to the bed. There he sat down and pulled her onto the feather mattress beside him. In a blink she was on her back with him braced over her, smiling.

"I think it's only fair to warn you, your lordship… you may be in for a disappointment. I'm not very skilled at this sort of thing," she said, her eyes glowing, asking him to remember. His grin broadened. Apparently he did remember. "It's not as if my mother hasn't tried to instruct me…" She stiffened with her hands against his chest. "Wait—I'm supposed to take off my clothes."

"We'll get around to that," he murmured.

"No, I think I'm supposed to do it… I promised."

"Promised whom?" He scowled, puzzled.

"My mother," she declared, pushing him aside, sitting up, and sliding to the floor beside the high bed. "She made me promise I would wear nothing but a bedsheet and a smile for you."

"God. I might have known."

"She said you should get what you want tonight."

"Remind me to thank her. Someday." He lay back with his head propped on his elbow, watching her fumble with her buttons and lacing.

"She said it's only fair, and I suppose she's right." She shed her bodice, then worked the button of her skirt and the ties of her petticoats, stepping out of her shoes and skirts all at once. Then she paused, in her corset, drawers, and stockings, and chewed the corner of her lip. "I do need a sheet…" She looked a little uncomfortable. "I'm not sure I can do this…

without one."

Shortly he was ripping back the covers and dragging one huge linen sheet from the bed. After a few contortions, she managed to shed her corset cover and corset.

"Do you think you could… hold up the sheet for me?" She blushed, when he laughed. "Well, I am just learning."

"And rather quickly, I might add." He held the sheet up and watched the shadow she cast, with the candles behind her. She drew off her camisole, then slid her drawers down her hips and stepped out of them. He watched the tantalizing outline of her bare body, mesmerized, as she rolled her stockings down her legs, one at a time. Her shadow shrank as she came to take the sheet from him and wrap it around her.

She stepped back and smiled. "There." Then she thought of her hair and reached up to check it for pins. "Shall I take down my hair, or are you supposed to do it?"

"I don't think there are hard and fast rules for such things. At least there had better not be. Come here." When she padded over to him in her bare feet, kicking her sheet out of the way, he grinned and told her to stand still.

Sinking his fingers into her hair, he took a deep breath and pulled pins, one after another, handing them to her. When her hair was a mass of curls around her shoulders, he took a hot breath, snatched her up, and bore her back onto the bed.

The hairpins in her hand went flying as he covered her sheet-clad body with his and captured her mouth in a kiss that made her toes curl and her fingers dig into his shoulders. Soon his clothes were on the floor beside the bed, and he was working his way inside her sheet with her.

The sight and feel of his big, hot body against hers should have been at least a little shocking. She had never imagined seeing a man without his clothes, or being naked herself in a man's presence. But somehow, she knew this wasn't "a man," this was "Pierce." And his body was long and hard… so different from hers, so reassuringly like him. The broad mounds of his chest, the powerful columns up the middle of his back, and the sleek caps of muscles at the top of each shoulder fascinated her. Everything about him was as she might have expected: solid and beautifully tapered. The textures of him beckoned to her fingers… from his silky lips, to the faint scratchiness of his jaw, to the crisp hair that trickled down his chest. She loved the way the sinews of his hands worked as his fingers closed possessively over her breast.

He seemed to know exactly where to touch her, how to caress her, until her body felt like a deep and spreading pool of liquid heat, simmering with need and response.

"You're so beautifully curved," he murmured, running a finger along the outer curve of her breast. "And marvelously responsive." He brushed his palm over her nipple in circles, around and around, watching her shiver in response. Then he raked those same inquisitive fingers down her side and watched her squirm. "
Ummm
… ticklish too, and prone to laugh when embarrassed." When she pulled his head down to hers and ran her lips over his, he hesitated for a moment, murmuring, "And so delectably eager,"

before giving her the kiss she wanted.

He kissed and nipped and caressed his way down her body. His hand slid intimately across the curls at the base of her belly, and she stilled, concentrating on that sensation, remembering. Gradually, his fingers slid along that hot, sensitive cleft… parting, stroking, teasing. She shivered and tilted her pelvis, pressing against his hand. Her eyes were closed, her breathing shallow as he found the aching center of her response. With each stroke of his fingers around that burning pleasure point, chords of response vibrated all through her. Pleasure seeped along every nerve and fiber, thick and clinging, building continually within her. The slow, hypnotizing circles made by his hand gradually heightened and tightened her arousal… lifting her… higher…

Suddenly, she was propelled upward on a swell of sensation and flung through an unknown barrier. Her overstuffed senses seemed to burst and shatter as shock waves of sensation shuddered through her. She arched and contracted, writhing against his hand, scarcely able to breathe, numbed to all but those powerful torrents of pleasure.

As wave after wave of pleasure broke through her, he cradled her against him, murmuring reassurances and stroking her hair. Slowly the storm in her gave way to a soft, permeating ache in her deepest core, a wanting not satisfied by the gale of pleasure she had just experienced. Somehow he understood what was happening in her… for he gave her a sultry, dark-eyed smile and slid his body over hers.

The feel of his weight, pressed all along the length of her body, satisfied part of her craving for the feel of him. But it wasn't until he fitted his swollen flesh against her burning center that she understood the tightness, the tension lingering in her loins. With slow, gentle thrusts, he entered her lush receptive heat, pausing here and there to kiss away the anxiety caused by those foreign sensations. This was what she had wanted and needed—this joining, this sheathing of his flesh in hers.