Love and Scandal, page 14
“That was—”
“I know,” she said, softly, her cheeks burning. “It was inexcusable.”
“That was not the word that came to mind. Entrancing, inviting, enchanting but not inexcusable.”
“I must go in.”
“I will go in with you,” he said, hastily, handing the reins to a young groom and leaping down. He put his hand up to help her down. “Mrs. Parker will give you a better deal if I am there.”
Well, and he thought yesterday’s view was a good one, that buss in the park! Now he had the goods all right. Randall Proctor glanced around after the gent and his fancy piece went into the dressmaker’s, and slipped down an alley. Surely there would be a little dressmaker’s assistant who would be weak to a little bribery, a sweet or tuppence. Informants were worth their weight in gold to a pressman who couldn’t be everywhere at once. He was on to something, he thought, more than what the spectacled gent had said, too, but that was his own business, wasn’t it? The lady was not mad, not by a long shot if he had heard correctly. The poor besotted gent had said he was her slave, and that she had talented hands. He was so far gone that he had retained her services as his mistress, and that was a canny move on any whore’s part, for he was rumored to be a generous sort.
He tapped on the back door of Mrs. Parker’s, and a plain blonde waif opened the door. “Who is it?” she asked, peering out at him, squinting her reddened eyes.
“A gent who has something for you, my little dear.”
Jameson watched Mrs. Parker flutter around Collette, talking expansively about silk moiré, merino and cashmere, and trimmings of Brussels lace, silk flowers and ribbons in matching hues. He had thrown himself back in a chair and sat lazily, watching over his steepled hands, legs extended and ankles crossed. He brooded for a while on the effect a simple kiss, the merest brushing of her lips on his cheek, had had on him. Old clichés about lightning bolts and bells ringing came to mind only to be dismissed as tired. Collette would know how to describe the coursing of his blood through his veins, but he had no words.
He had been kissed before, in many and varied places by many and varied ladies, ladies being a kind term in some cases. But Collette, sweet, irresistible—
Her eyes shone as Mrs. Parker showed her bolt after bolt of gorgeous fabric and named styles and showed pattern books. Good God, he had not thought what his presence would do! The dressmaker was bringing out her most expensive cloth, her most frivolous trims, because she assumed he was bearing the cost. He did not know how much Collette had already realized from her royalties, but he didn’t think it was enough for even one of the gowns Mrs. Parker was rhapsodically speaking about.
But those eyes! Collette glowed as she looked over the cloth and exclaimed over a cunning arrangement of silk flowers on a bonnet. She would be so disappointed—
A tiny assistant popped her head through the curtain and gazed around the room, her eyes lighting on Collette, and then she disappeared again. Mrs. Parker called her back, and the young girl, skinny and half-starved looking, with a squint that hinted at long hours with a needle by poor light, hurriedly fetched some more extravagant cloth at her mistress’s behest.
Collette glanced over at Jameson. “This is quite wonderful, is it not? I have never seen such beautiful fabrics in my life, nor such radiant hues! Mr. Bottle, the draper in Listerwood-on-Sea, has nothing to compare to this!”
She held an emerald swatch of fabric up to her and smiled over at him. “Is this not lovely? I have never seen a green that shimmered so. It is just like sunlight on the channel!” She twirled around the room with the fabric flowing around her lithe figure, swirling as she danced.
At that moment his mind was made up. “Mrs. Parker, may I speak with you for a moment?” he said, and indicated the corner of the room.
She joined him and he drew her aside, keeping an eye on Collette who had stopped dancing and was examining a pattern in one of the many books with fierce concentration.
“Mrs. Parker,” he murmured. “This young lady is very special to me and I would like her to have the very best of clothing. You can see how lovely she is. She deserves silk and satin, the very best you have! And underthings, delicates. She must have the very best. But for her dignity’s sake, I would not like her to know how much these clothes are going to cost.”
The dressmaker gave him a sharp look, her thin brows pulled down over flashing eyes. “I do not think I understand, sir?”
“I know the price of things,” Jameson continued, gazing over at Collette as he spoke. “But she does not. She is just up from the country. So here is what we will do. I will pay you the full amount of the dresses, whatever she wants. In return you will quote her a very modest price…very modest, perhaps only a tenth of the true cost! You will accept the money from her, but no more than that token amount. You will profit the more from our little deception, because as I say, I will pay the full amount of the dresses!”
The older woman, an understanding gleam in her dark eyes, said, “Mr. Jameson, she will find me a most reasonable dressmaker, and very fast, too. I have a day dress and an evening gown already made that will fit her slenderness to perfection, and the others shall be ready in two, maybe three days. Will that satisfy?”
Jameson straightened. “I think that will be most suitable, Mrs. Parker. I will be generous, as always.”
The little seamstress’s assistant bundled up some of the bolts of cloth nearby, her gaze nervously darting between him and Collette and then to the sewing room door. Jameson noticed but said nothing. When she hustled from the room toward the back door, he had a moment of unease. Helpers such as her had served as gossip-retailers in his years of experience with clothing and housing mistresses. But he shouldn’t worry. In this case, he was doing no wrong and there was nothing unsavory to report.
He relaxed and went back to watching Collette exclaim over her new wardrobe.
“That was positively exhilarating, Mr. Jameson,” Collette said as they exited an hour later. She pulled on her gloves. “I have never thought spending money could be so enjoyable.”
His carriage waited, and he handed her up into it. It was a delightful summer day, and he hated the thought of tamely taking her back to her hotel but didn’t want to drive aimlessly. It was early in the day yet. There was definitely something he would like to do with her, but—“Would you, perhaps, like to see one of my houses? We could have tea there, out on the terrace, overlooking the river.”
“One of your houses?” she gasped, clapping her hands together. “How many do you have?
“A couple, but this one is very special. You must see it. I think you will enjoy the afternoon.”
“Yes, oh, yes,” she said, gazing up at him. “I would enjoy that very much. Please, take me there.”
“I would take you anywhere you wanted to go,” he said, gazing down at her with meaning.
“Would you? I think I would go anywhere with you…Jamie.”
His resolutions of the day before were forgotten. Driving him on was the light in her eyes whenever she looked up at him and the way her lips had felt against his. He snapped the reins, hope and desire rising, the beat of seduction thrumming its siren call through him.
Twelve
All the way to Jameson’s second home, Collette struggled with herself. It had occurred to her that it was quite possible Jameson, as an established man about town, was taking her to his house with the intent to seduce her.
Should she let him? Would she enjoy it? She had begun to think she had missed much by not experiencing life other than through the pages of books. There were risks, of course. What if she became pregnant? But as a man of the world, would he not know how to prevent that?
She cast him a sideways glance.
“We’re almost there,” he said with deep satisfaction in his voice.
“Good,” she said, her voice coming out with a trace of a squeak. If it came down to it she would have to ask him outright, because she would not risk having a child out of wedlock. That would bring shame to her aunt and difficulty to her own life. Lovemaking was one thing, a child was another. Her palms began to sweat in the confines of her gloves.
Don’t be silly, she chided herself. It was quite possible he had nothing more on his mind than a cup of tea on the terrace. He was an experienced man and would have no desire for a foolish little country girl like herself. Her breathing calmed.
They were on the outskirts of London, in Richmond, and pulled up outside of the front gate of a tiny, secluded cottage, sweetly pretty, with flowers blooming in boxes mounted beneath the windows. She examined the cottage with interest, noting the cobbled exterior and prim window curtains. It looked like a house belonging to a tidy widow or fussy bachelor.
“This is unexpected,” she said as he leaped down from the carriage and offered her his hand as a silent stable boy came out to get the horses and led them around toward the back. The boy seemed not even to take any notice of her.
“What is unexpected?”
“This style of house. It’s so…pretty.”
He took her arm and strolled with her through the wrought iron gate and up the stone path, then found a key in his pocket and opened the door, standing aside to let her go in ahead of him as the clop-clop of another carriage behind them sounded, going past on the road beyond the gate.
The house inside was every bit as pretty and quaint as it was on the outside. She pulled off her gloves and strolled through the front hall to a sitting room beyond, and into the kitchen at the back of the house. The walls were papered and cheerful in yellow and cream, with roses coating the walls of a dining area off the kitchen. “Why do you own this house?” she asked, turning to him. “If I owned it, I would want to live in it.”
He didn’t answer. This was where he kept his mistresses, she thought, suddenly. But no one lived there that moment, that much was evident. It was cared for, but not in the way a home lived in by a woman would be. What should she do now that they were here? Pretend she hadn’t a thought in her head but tea? He gazed steadily at her, and she stared back, looking up into his dark eyes.
“Would you care for some wine?” he said.
“No… Yes! Yes, wine please.”
He poured for both of them, but no further mention was made of the terrace as he showed her about the cottage, the sitting room, the parlor, the bedrooms. In the last bedroom, the largest by far, with a white-canopied bed and fresh linens, the window slightly open to allow in the fresh, sweet air that made her feel so much more at home than the fogs of London, she set her wine aside and turned to him.
“Will you kiss me again?” she whispered.
“Here? In this room?”
“Yes.”
Doubt assailed him. This was what he had brought her here for, and she almost seemed to be inviting seduction, ready for it, waiting, even. And yet now, on the brink, he had doubts. This was no ordinary seduction. He had anticipated that she would demur, draw back, be shocked. But there was knowledge in her eyes, and acceptance, and something more. She was waiting, perched on the edge, eager to know what it was all about.
As he presented every new experience to her—the opera, the park, the seamstress’s establishment—she soaked up information and knowledge, and this was just another new experience. She was not trying to entrap him into marriage, and she did not expect anything beyond this. There was no deception in her, no devious scheming. And yet it bothered him that he was expected to perform as a good rake would. She expected him to seduce her.
And why should he not? His resolution hardened and his body tensed. He took her in his arms and bent to kiss her deeply. He wanted this too. That was his whole reason for bringing her here, and he should not be upset that she understood, accepted and was looking forward to the act.
Her questing, active mouth demanded satisfaction, and he found his arousal growing, the passion of her luscious lips and delicate hands squeezing his shoulders and arms making him aware that she was impatient to continue. He began to fumble with the buttons of her high-necked dress, and she helped him, their eyes locked, her lips moist, his desire building.
The heavy, ugly dress dropped to the floor and he helped her step out of it, and shed his own jacket and waistcoat. As their mouths met in another soul-searing kiss, he felt her slim fingers fumble with the buttons of his shirt, and then her cool hands on his bare skin, splayed across his chest, touching his musculature, learning him like a fascinating book or perfect sculpture. His arousal pressed insistently against the front of his trousers, and he gasped against her mouth, pushing the straps of her chemise aside and then letting his hands travel down to her bottom, pulling her to him, fitting her to his bulging erection.
She shivered, and he stopped to gaze down into her glazed eyes.
“Do you know what that is, my dear?” he asked, forcing himself to be gentle, trying to go slowly despite the pounding urgency of his desire. He took her hand, slipped it between them and cupped it over him.
Her face was pink, and her auburn hair spilled from its bun down over her bare shoulders. She was adorably tousled, the pink tinge making her look younger and prettier than he had ever seen her. He was amazed by her loveliness; it was so unexpected. He had always known her to be pretty enough, in a countrified way, but now she was radiant, glowing in the sunlight that streamed though the gauzy curtains. She had shed the ugly dress like a cocoon to reveal the butterfly beneath.
She nodded. “I know a little male anatomy, for Professor Stiltson, you see, had books, and I was curious…for my novel, you know. I needed to understand…wanted to learn…so I do know what…what…” She trailed off.
He groaned aloud as she hesitantly let her hand travel the length of him. He fumbled with the buttons of his trousers and her slim hand insinuated its way into the opening, touching him, drawing back, but then cradling his naked flesh in her ink-stained hand.
“Collette…please…”
He dropped to his knees and undid her chemise, pulling it down and stripping her, eager for his first view. Her flesh was pale, with tiny freckles over her flat belly, and he took her slim waist in his hands, kissing her stomach and then making his way up to her breasts, two perfect, sweetly uptilted orbs, the rosy tips puckering at the cool air and his attentions. She shivered all over as he drew one into his mouth and tantalized it with his tongue.
“Are you cold, my dear?” he asked.
“No…no, not at all. Please…please…” she begged, her head thrown back, her hair completely tumbled and flowing in rich waves over her slender shoulders.
“Please what?” he said, his ardor growing with her passionate responses.
“I don’t know… Teach me! Please, just don’t stop. What should we do? I don’t know!” she cried, staring wildly down into his eyes as his tongue circled the puckered pink of her nipple. “Tell me what I should do!”
He looked up into her eyes, thinking she was teasing, but no… She was perplexed. He scooped her up and carried her to the bed, depositing her on the covers. He stripped off his trousers and undergarments, watching her eyes as she watched him, until he stood almost naked in front of her, only his shirt left on. The sunlight danced across her pale flesh, and her eyes were wide as she lay, staring up at him.
“Are you frightened?” he asked, desperate to know if he should be turning back or if he should proceed. He was in an agony of suspense while she looked her fill. She licked her lips and it was all he could do not to drop onto the bed and ravish her.
“A little,” she admitted, gazing at his male anatomy. “I’m nervous, but…Jamie, will that all…?”
“Will it fit you?” he asked, feeling the heat pound through him at her innocent, thorough scrutiny. He was accustomed to love in the dark, under covers, with the lights extinguished. To have a woman stare at him so in the brilliant sunlight, her eyes wide, her examination intent, was his undoing. His male member was stiff and long and he craved her touch, whether it be her tender ink-stained hands, her mouth or her sweet virgin flesh. “It will not at first,” he said, carefully, his heart pounding. He must be honest with her at every step. She would be his first, too, in a way, his very first virgin, and he was as nervous in his own way as she.
But not so nervous that he wanted to stop.
Her eyes widened. “What will you do?”
“Nothing at all, if you don’t want me to. But if you wish to continue, I’ll be gentle at first, and you will be able to accommodate me, at last.”
She was silent for a long minute.
“I promise I will be gentle,” he repeated, “and you’ll like it, not at first, but…but…” He could say no more. He had never taken a virgin and had no way of knowing if he could make her like it. Such was not a topic of conversation among other men he knew. Not a one of them had ever considered the pain of first breaking through their wife’s or lover’s maidenhead. “I’ll make it pleasurable if I can, my dear.” He began to feel faintly silly, standing nearly naked in the sunlight.
“Jamie, is there some way…” She was silent again, staring mutely into his eyes.
“What is it?”
“I don’t want to become with child,” she said in a rush.
“Of course not,” he said, feeling a surge of protectiveness, and with it a growing feeling of attachment. He pushed away such thoughts. This was seduction and nothing more. “There are ways my dear, but they are not foolproof. There is no guarantee.” He was fully prepared at that moment to dress and take her home. His passion subsided a little, and he began to feel calmer, almost relieved. There would be no need to make love to her, to soil her perfection, to tear down his paragon with mortal sins of the flesh.
“But I would like… I wish to experience…” She reached out one tentative hand and touched him. He stiffened and felt the blood course through him at her gentle touch, his arousal pulsing heavily again. He was gone in that instant and he knew he would do whatever he had to, to make love to her.
