Lady Priscilla's Shameful Secret Read online

  ‘No, really…I would prefer…’

  Hendricks shook his head. ‘I think the duke wishes to speak to you again. And should your father wish to speak to you, it might be better that he have a few moments to collect his temper.’

  ‘That is probably true,’ she said with a sigh. Truly, it was not so bad to be with Reighland. He had shown unusual foresight in arranging this party for her. The least she could do was be grateful.

  Robert congratulated himself on a job well done. He had arranged this meeting on little more than a hunch. But the smile Priscilla had given him when she’d spied Hendricks was of such brilliance that he could not believe there was no meaning in it. Now she was standing before him, a veritable blushing flower of devotion, looking up at him with those enormous blue eyes and saying, ‘I wish there were some way to show you how much such a kindness meant to me.’

  ‘Do you, now?’ Surely, it could not be this easy.

  When he had thought to marry, he had imagined it to be an arduous process of coaxing some passionless virgin out of her clothes and into his bed. But here was a girl who was not only lovely, but who had some basic understanding of what her beauty did to a man. And tonight she was smiling at him as she never had before. It seemed they had reached an understanding.

  He meant to marry her, of course. What harm could there be in allowing her to express her gratitude? ‘I have not shown you the house yet,’ he said, doing his best to add a hidden meaning to the words. ‘Would you do me the honour?’ He gestured towards the door.

  She gave one doubtful look in that direction, as though to acknowledge how improper it would be to go off alone in the middle of the party. But after that token of modest resistance, she gave a single, graceful nod of acquiescence.

  A brief tour of his home would not hurt to sway her further in his favour. It was magnificent, with wide marble stairs running up the middle in an elegant curve and a series of hallways leading off to various receiving rooms, studies and salons. It had impressed him when he had first seen it. He’d stood in the gilt-ceilinged foyer, momentarily stunned that it was now his. While Benbridge’s town house was grand, Reighland’s London residence was spectacular.

  How could any woman resist it?

  Of course, he could barely remember to speak about it as they walked, so much was he enjoying the company he was with. He did not even notice how far they had come from the people gathered in the ballroom until he realised that he could hear the echo of his footsteps on the polished wood of the floor over the distant sound of voices.

  They need go no further than this for what he had in mind. It was perfect, really. They were all alone. Her skin, which was near to flawless in the best of light, glowed like a pearl in the illumination of the single candle that had been left to make for easy passage of servants while discouraging strangers from straying.

  He had never been the sort of man to be easily moved by a pretty face. Well, perhaps never was too strong a word. He had watched such girls be won by young men who were wittier, handsome and more at ease in their own skins. And he had decided that his own inevitable disappointment was not worth the brief pleasure the pursuit might bring.

  But things had changed, now that he’d met Priss.

  She glanced over her shoulder and the same light that had touched her skin made her curls glow gold. ‘Where are you taking me?’

  ‘I am trying to get you alone, of course,’ he said, surprised that she needed to ask. ‘You are almost twenty-one, are you not? By now I should think that other gentlemen have tried such tricks on you. If they have not, then London lads must be surprisingly stupid.’

  She gave a weak laugh. ‘Last year, perhaps. I have learned to be more circumspect with my reputation. We had best be returning, before we are missed.’

  ‘In a little while,’ he agreed. ‘But first, I wish to receive the thanks that you were offering in the ballroom.’

  He tugged on her arm, pulling her through a doorway and into a darkened parlour, shutting the door behind them.

  ‘I meant for a verbal thank you, only,’ she said, with a breathless giggle.

  ‘Or a polite note?’ He was close enough so that he could smell the wine and strawberries on her breath and feel her curls tickling his chin. His body quickened in response.

  ‘I did not mean any more than that,’ she said again, placing her hands against his chest to add distance between them. But she did not push him away. Instead, she rested them there as though trying to choose between a shove or a caress.

  He stayed still. If he waited, time and moonlight would tip the balance in his favour. ‘And if I wanted more?’

  ‘Then I fear you shall be disappointed.’

  ‘A kiss?’

  ‘I would prefer not.’ It was a prim little statement, totally at odds with the soft mouth that uttered it.

  ‘You allowed one on the verandah, when last we met,’ he coaxed.

  ‘I do not think you mean to kiss me quite in the same way,’ she said, ‘if you need to lure me so far from the others.’

  ‘I think you are probably right,’ he agreed, dipping his head to nuzzle her ear.

  ‘And I think that is probably unwise,’ she said again. But she was leaning in to him as she said it, putting up the sort of token resistance that any lady would. You do not have to be shy with me, he thought. Not now. Not ever.

  ‘Oh, yes. I should think it very unwise.’ He traced the line of her jaw with his tongue and felt her tense, then relax with a sigh.

  He tipped his head to the side, hesitating for a moment before his lips touched hers. This must be perfect, if nothing else in his life was. And it would be harder than he had thought, simply because he was.

  Hard.

  She was a sweet thing, sweeter than he had ever expected to have for himself. All the sweeter for the tartness on her tongue when she talked to him. She smelled like French lilacs after a spring rain, rich and yet subtle and full of memory. He wanted to crush her body against his face, take her into his mouth, roll in her.

  There would be time for that. All the time in the world. So he counted out three of his own heartbeats before moving again, touching gently, lip to lip.

  Another three beats and he ran the tip of his tongue along the seam of her lips, following the downward curve of her frown.

  Not yet, then.

  There was a dimple on her cheek and he focused his attention on it, brushing it with his mouth until it relaxed as she smiled.

  Better.

  He slipped to her ear again, breathing against it, sucking the lobe into his mouth and aching as he thought of the lips to her sex. She gasped. Was she sensitive there, or was she reading his mind? He tugged at it with his teeth and heard another gasp. Her mouth was open, then. He could take it, if he wanted.

  And he did want.

  Too soon, he reminded himself.

  He kissed her throat, trailing down the cord in it until he had reached her shoulder blade, dipping his tongue into the hollows along the way. Then he drew back, for it would be too tempting to go lower, deeper, to lick his way down the rest of her body.

  She was panting now, panting for his kiss. He pressed open mouth to open mouth breathing with her, stroking her hair with his hand. Her tongue fluttered at his lower lip. He touched it with his own.

  She touched back. She licked gently at his teeth and he felt a moment’s triumph. She was trying to arouse him. As if that was necessary. He caught the tip between his teeth and drew her tongue into his mouth, urging her to learn him.

  Then he returned the favour. Her mouth felt ripe, kissable, and he nipped harder to brand it with his attentions. Anyone who looked at her would know what she had done and who she had been with.

  She did not fight against it. Instead, she moaned and pressed her
body closer to his, as though eager to be claimed by him.

  The nearness of her filled him with a reckless pleasure he had longed for when Reighland was a thing on some distant horizon and no part of his life. If this goddess would have him at all, it would be for himself and not the title she disdained. When he was with her, he would be nothing more than a man and she nothing less than a woman. They would spend nights, wrapped in each other, laughing and loving. It would take the cold sting out of the days of endless duty. She would be a blessing on his life.

  And he would give himself to her, give her pleasure. Give her children or jewels. Or both. He would give her anything she wanted, if only she would give of herself.

  She was a fragile little thing, like a tiny bird in his hands. He must remember to be gentle. He brought one hand up to cup her breast and used the other to bend her back in his arms, half a dip, half a swoon. Then he kissed her senseless, pressing her hips to his with the firm hand that held her low along her back.

  This was right. They joined where they were meant to, hip to hip, hard to soft. They could not do more. Not here.

  But why not? It was his house, she would be his bride.

  ‘Unhand me this moment, you beast,’ she whispered, turning her head and pressing a hand against his throat.

  He laughed. ‘A beast, am I? I swear I was tame as a lamb, before kissing you. But now I will show you just how wild you have made me.’

  His knees bent, taking her with him to the floor.

  ‘No,’ she said, a little desperately. But even as she refused him, a part of her seemed to revel in his attention. She was leaning backwards, away from him, as though trying to escape. But her hands were twined in the lapels of his coat drawing him down with her. ‘No,’ she whispered again, but she spread her legs as he lay on top of her.

  ‘You need not worry,’ he said, lowering his mouth to her breasts. ‘We will be married soon enough. No one will know if you give in to me now.’ He was inching her skirt upwards now, one hand on the flap of his trousers.

  ‘No.’ She struggled weakly under him. ‘No. Please. Do not.’

  He paused, fingers splayed on her bare hip. ‘Do not pretend to hate me, Priss. I saw the way you toyed with me in the ballroom. It does not do to play the outraged virgin when you kiss like a courtesan.’ He grinned at her so that she would know he was only teasing. ‘I am so hard for you I can barely think. Now spread your legs for me and lie still for just a moment.’

  Suddenly she was fighting for all she was worth, scratching at his face. He dodged the clawed hand just in time before her nails could lay a bloody trail on his cheek and covered her mouth with his hand to stop the scream that would bring the house down upon them. ‘What the devil? Priss. Calm down.’ He eased his body off hers, pulling his hand cautiously away so that it could grip her arm. She gasped, staring wild eyed at him as though she did not know him. For a moment, there was no sign of the willing woman he had kissed just moments ago. Then she took in a great breath and calm began to return.

  ‘Talk to me, Priss,’ he urged, wishing he could hold her close until the fear had fully passed. Instead he withdrew his hands from her shoulders, giving her space. ‘Tell me what is the matter.’

  ‘There is nothing the matter,’ she said, pushing her skirt back down her legs. ‘As long as you do not do what you were attempting, I will be fine. I cannot bear to be touched in that way.’

  He rocked back on his heels, confused. ‘And I can think of little else when I’m with you. We have a problem, do we not?’

  She laughed bitterly. ‘You say ‘We’ in such an easy, natural way, as though this means anything at all to you.’ She wrapped her arms tight around her own body as though his touch had chilled her to the bone; the distance it created between them made him ache. ‘I have not agreed to marry you, no matter what my father might have told you. Yet you think I will give myself cheaply on the parlour floor, just because I was foolish enough to do it for another.’

  ‘I never thought that,’ he argued. ‘I do not want anything less for you than to be my duchess.’

  ‘And I cannot be that for you. No matter how much I—’ Her lips sealed suddenly, tight, and she watched him, frightened and stricken.

  ‘What, Priss? Finish what you were about to say.’ She had been going to say she wanted it. He was sure.

  ‘It is nothing.’

  ‘I do not care. Tell me any way.’ For just a moment, her expression had changed, softening and sorrowful. Then she had looked away from him so that he might think her hard and unwilling. But the brief hesitation gave him reason to hope.

  She took a breath and framed her words carefully, so that they might seem impersonal. ‘No matter how much I enjoy your company, and how much I appreciate what you are trying to do in separating me from my father and re-acquainting me with the rest of my family, I cannot lie with you. I cannot even bear to think of the act. What kind of a wife would I be, to you or any man, if I cannot do that thing?’

  ‘It is not me particularly that frightens you, then. Any man would have the same response?’

  She gave a hesitant shake of her head.

  ‘You are afraid of me.’ He was shocked. Confused. And perhaps just the slightest bit angry. How could she be afraid of him? When had he ever done anything to deserve that? In his heart, he knew, of course. He was no longer the careless boy he had been. He had been kind to her and very careful, but she sensed the brutality in him and feared it.

  But why had she kept it from him? ‘When did you mean to tell me of this?’ he asked sternly. ‘You denied me from the first moment we met. I thought you were only being coy with me. What reason would you have, otherwise? I swear I have done no wrong to you.’

  ‘I had hoped that you would lose interest if I gave you no encouragement,’ she said.

  ‘If you did not mean to encourage me, then why did you allow me to bring you here?’

  ‘You were being so kind to me,’ she said, clearly confused herself. ‘And tonight I thought perhaps when the time came, my fondness for you would make it possible to bear the pain of the violation.’

  ‘Pain?’ He released her arms, suddenly unsure. He could not have been hurting her. When had he been less than gentle? ‘It is only the first time that is painful, Priscilla. And much as I might regret it, that moment for you has passed.’

  ‘But it was the second time and the third as well,’ she insisted.

  He had not wanted to think of her fall as being less than a momentary and regrettable lapse. Clearly, it had been more than that, yet she had not enjoyed it. Jealousy and sympathy warred within him. ‘Did you tell your lover of the trouble?’ Concern for her won out and he leaned forwards, wanting to comfort her, but seeing her shrink from his touch.

  ‘I tried. But he said that I should lie still, spread my legs and be quiet.’

  Robert swore, forgetting the company he was in and the fact that she already feared him. He took a deep breath and sought to mend the mistake. ‘I apologise for my actions and my words. I behaved no better to you, using almost the same words to gain your compliance. When I meet the fellow who hurt you, I will kill him. He has taught you to think all men are animals. And I am behaving no better than one.’

  ‘No, please.’ She forgot herself and gripped his arm. ‘Do not think to hurt Gervaise. He is not worth that.’

  ‘And you are,’ Robert said, enjoying the thrill it gave him to feel her leaning upon him.

  ‘But it was all my fault,’ she said, closing her eyes. He could see the sleepless shadows under them and put a tentative hand on her waist so that she might draw closer and rest her head on his shoulder. ‘And again, tonight. If I had shown sense and refused to come away with you…’

  She looked ready to cry. Without thinking of how it might frighten her, he pulled her close in a hu
g, doing his best to keep the gesture innocent. ‘It is not your fault. None of this was. While I might say your charms are irresistible, you notice that I was able to master myself when you refused me. Only a clumsy and unskilled lover would have continued, knowing the lady was in pain. I promise you, with another man, it will be different. With me, for example.’ He tried to keep the offer casual, lest she think he expected an immediate recommencing of activity.

  For a moment, she almost seemed persuaded, relaxing in his arms and letting him support her. Then she shook her head and pulled away from him. ‘It will be worse.’

  ‘I beg your pardon.’ It was a most unwelcome sentiment from a woman he cared about. And unjust as well. There had been no previous complaints about his lovemaking. But it did not seem proper to tell her so. ‘Explain yourself immediately.’

  ‘Perhaps it is because I come to you with too much knowledge,’ she muttered, turning pink and clearly embarrassed to even explain the problem. ‘And perhaps you are right and the fault was Gervaise’s. But the thing is…’ She glanced down, and hurriedly away. ‘Gervaise is shorter than you. And slimmer.’ She paused significantly. ‘And quite probably smaller in other ways as well. If that did not work, then how…?’

  He rocked back on his heels again and laughed so long and so hard that he had to reach into his pocket for a handkerchief to wipe his eyes.

  The door to the room opened suddenly and John Hendricks was staring down at them in disapproval. ‘What the devil are you on about, Reighland? Priscilla, come away from him immediately.’

  She gave a little yelp of embarrassment and moved to rise. But before she could Robert dropped a hand heavily upon her shoulder. ‘Do not move a muscle, Priss.’ He gave Hendricks his iciest, most Reighland-like stare. ‘As you can see, nothing untoward is occurring. We are sitting here, having a harmless conversation.’ It was a bald-faced lie. He was sitting like a tailor upon the floor, with a fading erection, and his lady love was leaning back against a wall. Though her skirts were properly arranged to hide her legs, she appeared to have escaped a vigorous tumbling by the narrowest margin. If Hendricks had arrived a few moments earlier…