Where Destiny Plays, page 10
He pulled out, aiming at the mattress between her legs. She grabbed his cock, the ecstasy in his eyes fading to wonder as he came in hot jets on her stomach.
He crashed to her side, panting. “Good God, Lavinia. You are better than a dream.” He wrapped an arm around her.
She nuzzled in the crook of his arm, his heart thudding in her ear, his seed oozing down her belly. “Stay with me.”
He kissed her hair. “Unfortunately, I fear it impolitic for me to stay the whole night.”
“Like in Countess Winthrop’s library.”
“I had to. You know that.” His tone held regret.
“I do and I forgive you.” She pulled away to scramble under the covers. “A few moments of indulgence before you leave. There’s a secret passageway to your bedroom, you know.”
His sharp guffaw pierced the air. “Truly?”
“The dream gets better, doesn’t it, my lord?”
He adjusted the counterpane at her neck. “I shall leave through the front door to remove the evidence of our impulsiveness just outside. Before the maids discover the shocking sight.”
“Ah yes.” She giggled.
The book, the jacket and the proof of his desire were more new memories to dissipate the old.
* * * * *
For one brief moment the night before, Arthur had been utterly shocked to find the refined Lady Foxley-Graham peeping in on the privacy of a bedroom. Now his interest in the lady was thoroughly piqued. And his admiration for Nicholas deepened.
He was famished in the morning, as well as excited and nervous to see her. He was the first in the breakfast room, joined soon after by Nicholas then Helena.
Lavinia sauntered in a good hour later, smiling her “good morning” to Nicholas.
Admiration was tarnished by jealousy.
And then she met Arthur’s gaze, her smile slimming timidly as her cheeks increased their rosy hue. She offered a subdued morning greeting before scooping out a generous serving of eggs. The jealousy dissolved.
He had to say something. He had to talk to her. It was killing him. “Lavinia,” he managed, “it is such a splendid day. I thought we could take a stroll in the garden after breakfast. You know, to discuss our meeting with the bishop tomorrow.”
“Oh, yes!” piped up Helena. “You must see the rose garden. The bushes are all pruned but you can still see the placards. Lavinia has a rose named after her.”
“She does, does she?” He smiled at the viscountess, taking in her ensemble of yellow-orange, a jacket over a skirt with tiers and fringe. The buttons of the jacket only went so high, the neckline filled in with ivory lace.
Lavinia turned away, resuming her attention to her plate of food.
Helena continued, oblivious to the debauchery her uncle had been up to down the hall from where she slept. “If you want to see the rose in bloom, there’s an etching in the library. It’s lovely. A lavender purple variety.”
“You may find it a bit rough out there,” Nicholas said. “We’re still completing some much-needed restorations to the formal gardens. In fact, darling,” he said, turning to Helena, “I want your opinion on some plans from the landscape architect.”
As the newlyweds continued chattering about estate renovations, Arthur stole a glance at Lavinia. Her lips curled demurely.
“Are you very interested in gardening, Lady Foxley-Graham?”
“Merely an amateur. I find it soothes me on those days when I feel slightly agitated.” She flashed him a provocatively uplifted brow before returning to her breakfast.
The thought of soothing Lavinia made him incredibly hard. He cleared his throat and went back to his eggs, still surprised at his potency. “When can I expect to have the pleasure of your company?”
She smiled, her gaze flickering to Nicholas and Helena before returning to him. “After breakfast, I’ll just need to retrieve my hat and gloves from my room.”
Half an hour later, Arthur was walking arm-in-arm with Lavinia through the gardens of the Earl of St. Albans, well landscaped despite Nicholas’ protests otherwise. And, indeed, there was a placard announcing the Rosa Lavinia.
“One day, I shall have the pleasure of seeing your rose in bloom. And what meaning does a lavender rose convey?”
Her lips twisted in some relived memory. “Enchantment and love at first sight.”
“Really?”
“That’s what the man who named it after me said.”
“A man?”
“Absolutely. An earl I believe.”
Oh she was cruel. He leaned in to murmur in her ear, “I’ll have you know I will be marquess one day.”
She did not turn to face him as a wicked smile curled her lips. “Which trumps earl.”
Damn. Another lover. She was probably awash in them. But surely he was special?
“Lavinia, I meant it when I said I have been hoping to find you, find my odalisque. That night…I simply cannot express…” God in Heaven he could not express it. “You were so…the whole affair was so…perfect.”
This time she did turn to face him, the wickedness replaced with delight. “It was, wasn’t it?”
She had felt it too. His heart swelled. He wanted to kiss her but they were exposed. Beyond the garden was a stand of trees, offering more privacy. A bedroom would be best but how to casually saunter into a bedroom in the middle of the morning without raising suspicion? The trees would have to do.
As he steered her toward the copse, the delight in her eyes gradually darkened. She stopped and turned to him.
“My lord,” she whispered, “please believe me when I say I don’t normally have furtive encounters with strangers at social events. When I went to the masquerade I hadn’t been with a man since Nicholas. Seeing him so happy with Helena at their wedding made me feel well, sorry for myself, I suppose. It was brash and daring.”
Her remorse pierced his soul. “Tending to such needs is normal for those of us with lustful natures.” He squeezed her arm.
She sucked in a shuddering breath. “It’s acceptable for a man to feel regret when a lover leaves him and for him to act upon it.” Tears glittered on her lashes. “But not for a woman. We’re not supposed to even have lovers to begin with. Of course, we all do anyway. We just cannot be so open about it.”
He fished for his handkerchief and handed it to her.
She accepted the small gesture and dabbed her eyes. “Thank you.”
“The masquerade was brash and daring for me as well. Like you, I needed to feel something other than self-misery. The last mistress I had left me to care for her aging mother in her hometown up north where she eventually rekindled a romance with a childhood sweetheart. I just received notice of the christening of their first child.”
She gaped at him. “You’re serious?”
He smirked. “Yes, I’m serious.”
She chuckled. “It’s been longer for you than for me? And how is that possible for so handsome a man?”
He grinned at her flattery. “In truth? Because I’m tired of mistresses. I want a companion, a friend.” He held her gaze. “A lover who is an equal.”
“Arthur—”
He held up his hand. “I know what you are going to say, Lavinia. But I’m forty-four years old. I’m tired of the game. I want what I want. And I want you. I want to court you, to woo you.”
“To court me?” Her cheeks colored.
“And everything that implies.” Marriage. A life together. God his cock was hard.
She smiled. “Just remember I like roses. Lots of them.”
“‘Each morn a thousand roses brings’.”
“Poetry as well? Such a gallant.”
“We met over a poem. The Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam if you remember.”
“I will never forget, my sultan.”
He indicated the clump of trees. “‘With thou beside me singing in the Wilderness, Wilderness becomes Paradise’.”
He offered his left arm and she took it with an uncharacteristically shy glimpse from under lowered lids.
Could she feel his heart pounding? She said nothing and stared straight ahead as they promenaded toward the grove. He wanted instead to grab her hand and run, to let the wind tear off his hat as they bounded through the garden, laughing.
Finally they were amidst the grove, in the shelter of birch trunks and their shadows. He pulled her to him, their bodies fitting together perfectly as he kissed her. She tore off her gloves and threaded her fingers through his hair, sending his hat tumbling to the ground. Could it be true that this woman wanted him as much as he wanted her? He pulled back from the kiss but she held his head steady as she leaned in for more, unafraid to take her pleasure. She tasted like…possibilities.
And then she gazed up at him, her eyes glassy, her cheeks pink, her features softened with contentment. “Arthur, last night was liberating.”
Liberating was a good word. “I know. I feel as a man half my age.”
She cupped his crotch, tracing the hard length within between two fingers. “Your body is responding like a man half your age.”
He couldn’t stop smiling. “I was prepared to kiss every English woman of a certain age and—” He glanced at her bosom. “Shape to find you.” He fumbled with the ribbon of her bonnet.
“I knew Sophia and Joseph were acquainted with the sultan but I was too afraid to ask. What if you were a married member of Parliament? Or a Catholic priest?”
“Or the Bishop of St. Albans?” Her bonnet off, he smoothed his palms over her chignon.
She laughed. “That would have been awkward.”
He leaned against a trunk and drew her to him, her back to his chest. He wrapped his arms around her and buried his nose in the crook of her neck. Her scent of roses and lavender was subtle; a man would have to be intimate to notice. That he was her intimate quickened the beat of his heart and tormented his prick.
“How should an earl woo a viscountess?” he murmured.
“We will make appearances at certain events this Season.” She melted against him. “You will escort me to all the fashionable balls, the opera, the ballet, the Summer Exhibition. You will never be seen to leave my house except during regular calling hours. Our mutual intentions will be made clear by such discretion.”
He trailed his tongue along the heated pulse point of her neck. “And when do I get to fuck you, my lady?”
She turned in his arms to face him. “Whenever you wish, my lord. Just not in public.” She delicately sucked on her lower lip.
Finally a London Season where he would have some fun. He kissed her thoroughly, her mouth soft and acquiescing. He unbuttoned her jacket top. “‘Ah, Love! could thou and I with Fate conspire, To grasp this Scheme of Things entire’.”
“The Rubaiyat again?”
“Of course.”
“Don’t quote that around the bishop.”
“I don’t care what the bishop thinks now I have you.” The neckline of her corset cover was not as plunging as what she wore to dinner yet offered enough of her to ravish. He cupped her breasts and lay possessive kisses on her shoulder.
She moaned his name as she unbuttoned his waistcoat. “Perhaps it was fate, perhaps it was destiny, perhaps—” She stopped undressing him. “Sophie,” she drawled, devoid of sensuality.
He sighed. “I was pleasantly erect and you have to mention my sister?”
She thinned her lips. “Who chose your sultan’s costume?”
“I did. I wore it the year before to the masquerade.”
One corner of her mouth quirked up. “So the Earl of Petersham is a regular denizen of clandestine sexual festivities?”
“Countess Winthrop is a good friend of mine,” he protested.
“You don’t have to use euphemisms around me, darling. If she was your lover, just say so.”
“And how do you know the countess is not currently my lover?”
“Because she only retains her lovers briefly and never continues with any of them after they’ve attended one of her balls. I also know she is not actually a countess.”
“You seem to know a great deal about her.”
“I made inquiries before I accepted the invitation. I am not generally acquainted with the habitués of the demi-monde.”
“Have I just been insulted?” He feigned a pout.
“Not at all.” She patted his chest. “You’re a man. You’re allowed a wide breadth of acquaintances. So you wore the costume the year before. Did Sophie know?”
“Yes.”
She laughed softly. “It was she who suggested my costume, even helped with designing it. And it was she who invited me.”
He grinned. “Then I will have to thank my sister for looking out for my interests when she arrives.”
“Along with your parents.”
“You really know how to thwart a man’s ardor, don’t you?”
“They may be somewhat shocked to discover their son has been carrying on an affair in their granddaughter’s house.”
“Ah, yes.”
“So let’s keep it secret until the Season. Your mother won’t object to a formal courtship.”
“You are good at this. I had only heard rumors.”
She laughed and tugged on his now-opened waistcoat. “I’m a woman. I must abide by Society’s rules.” The heat of her hand surrounded his cock.
Shit, she was good. He had not noticed she had unbuttoned his fly. Her thumb smoothed over his glans, wetting it as she gripped the shaft.
“I’d rather be inside you,” he said against her mouth.
She leaned in to graze her lips across his cheek. “And I want to frig you, my lord.”
All sensation pooled at his crotch as she fingered him delicately. He grabbed her waist and rested his forehead against her shoulder. She pumped slowly, her touch steady, her strokes expert and when he murmured her name, her movements began in earnest, jerking him swiftly, rendering him insensible, his knees trembling to keep him from crashing to the ground. Her scent teased his nostrils, her rapid breaths taunted his ears, her very presence sent him to the realm of recent memory when her hot, wet mouth encircled his prick, when he fucked her on a red velvet divan—
Suddenly, he was with her in the present, in the moment before explosion. “Darling,” he protested.
“Shh, shh. Let go.”
He came in her hand, into his handkerchief she still clutched. He looked up to find her gazing at him with wide eyes and flushed cheeks.
He too was awestruck. This woman—where had she been all his life?
* * * * *
London
Julius leaned his head against his arm, resting on the mantel, and stared into the library hearth. One speck of coal still glowed albeit fitfully, in a valiant effort to not extinguish yet useless in the face of inevitability.
It had been precisely like that for his cock not an hour before.
Oh, he had been eager to fuck her, but deep inside nervousness had burbled until it boiled over into frustration. The last time he had experienced such a sensation he had been a green lad of sixteen. It had been his first time and the nervousness made him come too quickly. Over thirty years later, it meant he could not come at all. He could barely maintain his vigor.
And yet he still burned for Grace.
The door to the library clicked shut.
“Well, here you are then.”
Grace strode forward to meet him and held out her hand. She wore a dressing robe over her nightgown and clutched a shawl over everything. He took her hand in his. Her fingers were frigid, like ice. Such a chill could be harmful to the—to her in her condition. He pulled her against his body, wrapping his arms around her, trapping her hands between them.
“You shouldn’t be out of bed. It’s too cold in the house at this hour,” he murmured against her hair.
“Jules, you’re ignoring me.”
He pulled back. “I’m right here. How could I be ignoring you?”
“I don’t like how you just got up and left.” She sighed into his chest. “It happens to more men than you might think and more often than you might think.”
Ah, yes. Grace was not without experience. That was putting it mildly. Grace had had far too much experience probably before she had turned twenty. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
“But we need to talk about it if that’s how you’re going to react.”
“There’s nothing to say, Grace.”
“All right then, you listen. If you can’t make love to me one night, then that’s just how it will be that night. The more you try the worse it will be.” She gazed up at him, her expression barely discernible in the darkness. “I want you in bed beside me, not brooding alone.”
He touched her cheek, the wetness of tears surprising him. “I think I’ve been tired of late. Overworked perhaps.”
It was only a partial lie. They had been seeing far more patients recently but that had been his fault. An attempt to drive his attention away from the reality he refused to face. As if treating mothers-to-be could really serve such a purpose.
It was more like a reminder. And then he needed more distractions.
It was a bloody vicious circle.
“Can you suggest a colleague to some of the newer patients?”
That was the obvious solution, wasn’t it? But then he and Grace would be forced to spend more time together. Eventually she would expect him to say something about…about her.
Why did the words come so easily when it was another man’s woman, another man’s child?
“So many of the new patients are expectant young women. Surely you know of a specialist?”
But he wanted to save all the babies, all of them, make sure each one of them was born healthy. He couldn’t do that if another doctor saw them.
“And you’re seeing fewer hysteria patients.”
She’d noticed.
“I think that’s not helping your state of arousal. I think you need more stimulation not less.” She squirmed against him, freeing a hand to cup his crotch, to toy with his still-flaccid cock.
