The Trouble With Princesses (18 page)

“So are all men as well endowed as you,” she continued, “or have the artists been lying?”

“No and no. Size depends on the man, though I can’t say that I’ve given the subject much thought since it’s women’s bodies that interest me. Then too there’s the fact that I’m erect at the moment.”

“Does that made a difference?”

He laughed again. “Quite a lot.”

“Ah.” She nodded again, studying his phallus as she considered. “And does it actually . . . fit?”

“Fit?”

A flush crept over her cheeks. “Inside. Would it fit me, for instance?”

His shaft flexed at the suggestion and he nearly groaned as an image took hold of lifting her over him and finding out exactly how pleasurable it would be to fit himself inside her. She would be exquisitely tight and warm and wet.

Perfectly right.

Perfectly wonderful.

“Yes, I’m certain I’d fit,” he said.

She gave him a look as if she wasn’t convinced.

“But for now,” he said, ignoring the small visual byplay, “you’re supposed to be undressing me, remember?”

She nodded.

“Then quit dawdling and remove my drawers.”

“I’m not dawdling. I had questions.”

“Which I’ve answered in spite of the fact that you are tormenting me.”

“Am I?” she asked with a little smile.

“Yes, and you needn’t look so pleased about it. If you’re not careful, I’ll torment you back.”

“Promise?” she said impishly.

He laughed, then groaned again. “Ariadne,” he warned through his clenched teeth.

“Yes, all right. Do I just slide them down?”

“That would be the general idea.”

He watched as she took a moment to gather herself. Then she reached in. He shivered as her hands moved over his hips, her palms sliding along his thighs and briefly around to his buttocks before she worked the cloth lower. He angled his hips up to aid her, then lay back again as she tugged the drawers completely off. She tossed them in the direction of her nightgown, where they landed, already forgotten.

Then, once again, he let her look her fill, bending an arm beneath his head.

Breath came quickly from her lips as if taxed by her recent efforts. Her red-gold hair lay tousled becomingly around her flushed face and pale shoulders, her nipples peeping enticingly from behind the heavy silken locks that pooled over her pale thighs.

She looked like Eve must have looked in the Garden of Eden, tempted by the serpent and the apple. He had to confess he felt rather like a devil, leading her down the forbidden path. But she was halfway there already. What did a few more steps really matter?

“Shall I touch you?” she murmured.

“God, yes!”

She laughed a bit nervously. Then her little palms were on him again, moving over his calves and knees and thighs, learning the shape of his limbs before gliding along his hips again and up across the flat plane of his stomach and chest.

He sucked in his belly on a sharp inhalation. “You really are trying to torment me. I’ll remember this.”

She shivered visibly and smiled. “You’re so warm. So hard.”

Then her fingers wandered down his body once more and finally curved around the one part that was literally aching for her touch. He arched involuntarily in her hand, sliding himself up, then down against her grasp before he forced himself to lie still.

“Y-you’re hard here too, but smooth, almost like satin,” she said with a sigh. She stroked him slowly from root to tip, clearly enthralled by the experience. “Am I doing this right? Do you like it?”

“More than you can imagine. Don’t stop.”

She repeated the movement, her next tortuous pass making him harden even more in her grasp.

“Faster,” he ordered in a guttural voice.

“Like this?” she asked, increasing her speed.

“And harder. Grip me tighter.”

She closed her fingers around him, but still it wasn’t enough.

Reaching down, he enclosed her hand, manipulating her fingers to show her exactly how much pressure he wanted. Willingly, she obeyed, pumping him in her hand the way he’d instructed.

He closed his eyes, a long moan escaping his throat as she brought him closer to his peak, his seed swelling painfully in his balls. Then without any prompting from him, she moved her thumb over the ultra-sensitive head of his shaft, fingering the already wet slit with a skill that drove him straight to the edge.

Release claimed him, hard and fierce, his seed shooting over her hand and onto the sheets in thick, delicious, bliss-inducing jets. His body quaked from the exquisite pleasure, and for long moments he could find neither the breath nor the thoughts that would enable him to speak.

At length, he cracked open an eyelid.

She was kneeling beside him, an expression of rapt astonishment on her face.

“You’re sure that was your first time?” he asked, his voice so low and rough it almost cracked.

“Of course. What do you mean?”

“Just that if you weren’t blue-blooded, I’d suggest you consider a life as a courtesan. You’re that good.”

Her lips curved, eyes bright as if she were pleased by his reaction. “So, you liked it?”

He chuckled. “I believe you just had a very graphic demonstration of exactly how much. Yes,” he said, reaching out to pull her into his arms. “I loved it.”

Her smiled widened, a fresh flush spreading over her cheeks. “I did too. Does that make me very wicked?”

“Extremely,” he said, running a palm over her bare bottom. He caressed her for a moment before giving her a playful little slap.

Her eyes widened and she wiggled against him.

“Tired?” he asked. “Should I go and let you get some rest?”

She shook her head. “Not unless you want to go.”

Moving his hand lower, he slid his fingers between her thighs, then inside, where she was already slick again with need. “I’ll stay a while longer. I don’t think I’m quite done with tonight’s lesson after all.”

He claimed her lips in a dark, languid kiss and began to show her exactly what he meant.

Chapter Fifteen

A
riadne slept late the following morning and ate breakfast on a tray in her room. Luckily, she had being weary after last night’s ball to offer as an excuse for why she had chosen not to eat with the others in the morning room. But the truth of the matter was that after spending the night in Rupert’s arms, she just couldn’t risk facing anyone, especially Emma. She didn’t trust herself not to give away some hint of her secret, especially if she walked in and discovered Rupert already seated at the table.

She flushed to recall everything that had passed between them—each languid caress, every deep, delicious kiss still as vivid in her memory as the moment it had happened. She shifted against the bedsheets, her nipples peaking, as fresh need rose again between her thighs.

Merciful heaven, what has he done to me?

And when will he do it again?

She’d been very sleepy when he’d left not long before dawn. With the room still awash in darkness, he helped her back into her nightgown—for which she’d been extremely grateful when her maid arrived hours later—then he dressed in his drawers and robe.

“Be good,” he whispered as he bent to give her a last kiss.

“Why?” she mumbled. “It’s no fun being good.”

He chuckled and kissed her again before tucking her under the coverlet and quietly letting himself out of the room.

She slept deeply after that, waking only when her maid pulled back the curtains to let the bright morning light stream in.

Nearly an hour and a half later, she finally emerged from her bedchamber, bathed and dressed in a pale lavender and ecru striped day dress. She walked down the main staircase, wondering with a flutter in her stomach how soon she would see Rupert again. How would it feel, after everything they had shared last night? Would she be able to keep her eyes off him now that she knew exactly how magnificent he looked both in and out of his clothes?

She smiled and suppressed a very un-Ariadne-like need to giggle. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d given in to such foolishness—not even as a girl. But something about last night, about Rupert, left her feeling giddy. It was as if she’d drunk too much champagne and was floating on effervescent little bubbles. If there had been music, she was sure she would have danced.

Rather than give in to such undignified behavior, she contented herself by taking the rest of the stairs at a decidedly buoyant gait, her skirts billowing merrily around her ankles. She was just starting down the corridor toward the family drawing room when Emma appeared, the new baby cradled in her arms, young Friedrich walking at her side.

The toddler grinned up at Ariadne, cheeks dimpling, his rounded face a perfect blend of both his parents’ features, though he quite definitely had his mother’s striking blue eyes.

Ariadne grinned back and waggled her fingers.

The boy giggled.

Ariadne nearly joined him.

As for Peter, the infant appeared to be fast asleep, his dark eyelashes fanned in a beautiful arc against his milky cheeks, one tiny fist tucked securely beneath his chin.

“Good morning,” Emma remarked with a smile of her own. “I was wondering if you were up and about yet. We missed you at breakfast, you know.”

“Sorry, but I just couldn’t seem to get myself out of bed. Late night and all.”

Very late night,
Ariadne thought. As for the “and all” . . . well, she would be careful not to mention anything about that.

“The extra sleep seems to have done you good,” Emma continued. “You look quite refreshed. Your skin is positively glowing.”

“Is it?”

Maybe the effervescent sensation she felt wasn’t just on the inside. Could it be that all the good sex she’d had showed on the outside too? Perhaps she should make a study on the subject. After yesterday, she certainly wouldn’t mind conducting additional research.

Emma gave her a curious look.

In the next second, Friedrich darted away from his mother’s side and raced down the hall. Ariadne turned to see one of the family cats stroll into view at the end of the corridor.

“Kitty!” the boy squealed. “Come here, kitty.”

The animal’s head came up and he hurried faster, brown-and-black-striped paws flashing; clearly the cat was in no mood to be caught and held. Friedrich was usually quite gentle, as Ariadne had reason to know, but sometimes he got overly excited and squeezed a bit too hard.

“Friedrich, stop,” Emma called. “Leave Mozart alone.”

But the boy was too intent on his objective to listen.

“I’ll get him,” Ariadne offered, since Emma’s arms were full of the baby.

Picking up her skirts, she gave chase. Friedrich was fast in a way only young children could be, and they were nearly to the end of the corridor before she managed to catch up. Gently but firmly, she took hold of his small hand and drew him to a halt.

“But I want to pet the kitty,” he complained, straining to follow after the now vanished animal.

“You can see Mozart later. He doesn’t want to be bothered just now.”

“I won’t bother him. I love him.”

“I know you do, sweetie. What do you say we find Tuck instead? He’s always ready for a good rub and a game of fetch.”

Tuck was a King Charles spaniel that Nick had given Emma as a birthday gift during their first year of marriage. The dog was incredibly gentle, with bottomless wells of patience, and the ability to remain calm no matter how loud or rambunctious Friedrich—and now his baby brother—became.

Friedrich thrust out his lower lip in a moment of indecision, then smiled. “Okay. I’ll play with Mozart later. Let’s find Tuck!”

Ariadne sighed in quiet relief.

Emma strolled forward, the baby blinking sleepily as if he were on the verge of waking. “Are you sure?” she asked, addressing Ariadne. “We were all on our way up to the nursery.”

“It’s no trouble. I’ll bring him up as soon as he’s had a chance to enjoy himself with the dog. You don’t know where Tuck is at the moment, by any chance?”

A fresh smile crossed Emma’s face. “He’s usually in Nick’s study this time of day. There’s a chair near one window that he loves to sleep in. I’d try there first. Otherwise, just call his name and he’ll come running.”

She nodded and headed back toward the stairs, Friedrich’s little hand held securely inside of hers.

“Don’t play too long,” Emma said. “Friedrich needs his nap, and you and I have to change. We’re promised at the Rosedales’ this afternoon, if you recall.”

She stopped. No, actually she hadn’t.

“I’m not sure I’ll be able to make it,” Ariadne said. “I think your brother is taking me for another driving lesson today.”

Emma paused, a tiny frown moving over her brow. “Oh, I don’t believe he is. I’m sorry, Arie, but he left the house an hour ago at least. He mentioned something about a meeting at the palace and not to expect him until after dinner tonight.”

Disappointment washed through her like a small riptide, a reaction she instantly pushed aside. Obviously Rupert had meant what he said about not altering their usual habits and schedules in order to spend more time together. Then again, he was the one who’d dreamed up their driving lessons. She’d thought he might at least continue their new excursions longer than a single day. She supposed she would need to take nothing for granted and learn to count on
not
counting on him.

Putting on what she hoped was an airy smile, she shrugged. “Oh, well, my mistake. I’m sure the lessons will continue another day.”

“He ought to have told you he was otherwise engaged,” Emma said with concern, obviously seeing through Ariadne’s false smile.

“Yes, he ought. But there’s a prince for you. Arrogance at its finest.”

Emma’s frown deepened.

“Really, it’s of no moment,” Ariadne told her. “And this way I don’t have to beg off the party with you. I love garden fetes. I hope they serve ices.”

“As do I.” Emma rocked the baby, who had dozed off again. “Arie, are you—”

“Ices! I want an ice!” Friedrich chimed, tugging on Ariadne’s hand. “Mama, may I have an ice?”