Annie Burrows (14 page)

She stared at him, as though willing him to understand.

‘I am touched that you show such concern over my health. Do I look tired?’

‘I think your journey down here on horseback must have been very tiring, given how hot it has been today,’ she said, looking a little cross.

He smiled at her. ‘And you think that having an early night would do me good, is that it?’

‘Yes,’ she said vehemently.

‘I think you are correct, Mrs Morgan. I think an early night is just what I need.’

She looked relieved.

He chuckled as she walked away and began shepherding the younger girls out of the room. Did she really think he could not take a hint? He had known straight away that she wanted him to go to his own room, as soon as he could, so that she could join him there. But she had not picked up on his own subtle acknowledgement of her hidden message.

It just went to show how new all this was to her. How naïve she was, in her own way, in spite of having been married and bearing a child.

Chapter Nine

I
t was not as difficult to settle Cissy as she’d feared. She had not slept well for the entire time Lydia had been in London. Relief that she was home, coupled with exhaustion, meant that she was actually quite content to get into bed, with Slipper curled up in his basket on the floor beside her.

It was Marigold who proved fractious. Lydia had to be quite firm in pointing out that very few young ladies of her age were permitted to so much as eat dinner with adult guests, never mind mingling with them for half an hour afterwards. It was only when she threatened to restrict her to the nursery altogether that she ceased arguing and went rather grumpily to bed.

By the time she got to visit Michael’s room, he was already fast asleep. She sat on the edge of his bed, just gazing at him. How she wished she’d come here first, so that she could have kissed him goodnight. She only just managed to prevent herself from brushing his fringe from his forehead. He’d wake up and sit up, and twine his arms round her neck and beg her for a story, and probably a kiss while there was nobody to see. Which she would love. But it would be selfish of her to disturb him now. Tomorrow, though...tomorrow she would arrange her evening better. She would be the one to tuck him in and say his prayers, not his nanny.

He was one reason why she could never regret her marriage. The Colonel had always been kind to her, in his way, but after Michael came...

His delight, both in his son, and in her for presenting him with the boy, had been overwhelming. He’d doubled her allowance. Showered her with gifts. She’d even begun to wonder if he’d started to feel some genuine affection for her. She had never measured up to his first wife, Robert’s mother, of course. No woman on earth could ever compare with her.

But then Maggie had been his first love. And nothing could quite match the strength of feelings experienced in youth, before adversity and experience made people more cynical about the opposite sex. So he’d told her.

‘You should marry again, when I’m gone,’ he’d said, during his last winter, after suffering a debilitating inflammation of the lungs. ‘You are still young and quite lovely, and I have not placed any restrictions on your jointure. No matter what you do, I have made sure you will always be comfortably off, both you and Cissy.’

‘I don’t want to think about it,’ she’d replied, a little uncomfortable about the way he seemed to be trying to plan her future even when he’d gone.

‘Marriage to me put you off for life, is that it?’

‘Not a bit of it,’ she chided him, tucking the rug more firmly round his knees. ‘But I have Cissy to think of. There are not many men with a heart big enough to take her into their home.’

He’d grasped her hand then, and kissed it, his hard face working as though suppressing some strong emotion.

He had never asked her if she loved him. He had neither expected, nor seemed to want it when they’d struck their very practical bargain. Yet she could not doubt that hearing that she thought so well of him had touched him deeply.

He had known, though, that someone else would come along one day. Someone she would want with every fibre of her being. If ever there was a man who knew what it was to be driven by desire, it was Colonel Morgan. It was just that he’d always held such rigid views that he’d assumed she, too, would marry rather than forgo the pleasures of the flesh.

She got to her feet and trod softly to the door, so as not to disturb Michael as she left him. She had only one more duty to see to, before she would be free to go to Lord Rothersthorpe.

She tapped on Rose’s bedroom door. Given the amount of time it had taken to settle Marigold, and what with all the woolgathering in Michael’s room, Rose was just about ready for bed.

They spent a fruitful few minutes talking about how the guests were shaping up and discussing tentative plans for the next day. By the time she left, she was fairly sure that nearly everyone would be settling down for the night by now.

At last she could return to her own room and prepare herself for the night ahead. She’d already asked Betsy to lay out the sheerest of her silk nightgowns, which she covered with a rather more functional wrapper for the walk along the moonlit corridors. She dabbed her favourite perfume on all her pulse points, then went and sat on the window seat for a few minutes, with her knees drawn up, listening to the sound of the house quieting down.

She was trembling with anticipation and nerves by the time she thought it safe to set out. And even then she drew her hand back from the door latch several times before muttering, ‘This is ridiculous!’

She had every right to walk about her own house, at any hour of the day, or night. If she met anyone else,
she
would be the one to demand what they thought
they
were doing, prowling about in the dark.

Yes, that was the attitude to take. With a firm nod of the head, she flung open her door and, barefoot, walked boldly through the dark and silent house to the single gentlemen’s quarters.

The Colonel would have been thunderstruck if he could see her now, striding down the corridor to the guest wing, with the full intention of getting into bed with one of her male guests. It was one of the things that had made her decision so hard to make. She’d spent so many years living up to his exacting standards that the habit of wondering what he would think of every action she took was hard to break.

But she was free now and more than capable of making her own decisions. And deciding on her own moral standards.

Given her circumstances, taking a lover was a logical, practical solution.

Though she felt neither logical nor practical by the time she reached Lord Rothersthorpe’s room. She felt excited. Scared.

Driven.

If she did not go in, now she’d got herself here, she would never, ever forgive her cowardice.

Taking a deep breath, she seized the door latch, went in and shut the door.

The room was not as dark as it had been in the corridor. Although there were no candles burning, he’d left the shutters open, so that moonlight streamed in across the bed where he was sitting propped up against the pillows. Waiting for her. Naked to the waist, at least.

For a moment, she stood quite still, just looking at him.

‘Oh, my...’ she breathed. She had never seen such a perfect specimen of masculinity. She drank in the firmly sculpted arms, the broad shoulders, the wide expanse of chest which was just made for a woman to lay her head against. And as for that stomach, with the line of dark hair drawing the eye downward to all the possibilities still concealed beneath the blankets...

A smile crooked one corner of his mouth. He flipped the covers aside. Her eyes widened.

He was ready for her. Magnificently ready for her.

‘Oh, my...’ she breathed again.

He made as though to swing his legs out of the bed.

‘No,’ she said. ‘Stay where you are.’

It had been such a struggle, getting to this moment. She was casting aside a lifetime of good behaviour and breaching all her own self-imposed boundaries. She couldn’t allow him to take over, not at this point. He’d never been reliable. And she wouldn’t be able to bear it if all he did was take his own pleasure without seeing to hers. No, if she was going to do this, then she couldn’t allow it to be anything less than perfect.

She untied the belt of her dressing gown with trembling fingers and shrugged out of it.

‘Lie back against the pillows,’ she said. She had worked herself up to such a pitch that her voice sounded quite harsh. Stern, even.

His eyes widened, just a fraction, but then one corner of his mouth kicked up in a wicked smile and he did as she’d bid him, lacing his fingers behind his head as he settled back against the pillows.

Her stomach swooped at the sight of him, lying there, roused and ready for her to do with as she willed.

She needed to get her hands on him so badly she couldn’t waste time with all the ties that held the front of her nightgown closed. She just reached down and seized two fists full of material at her hips, pulled the whole gown up and over her head and tossed it aside.

A sleepy, satisfied smile curved his lips as she stalked across the room to the bed.

‘What have you in mind for me?’

‘No talking,’ she commanded, placing her hand lightly over his mouth when she reached him. She wasn’t going to let anything spoil this. And whenever they talked, all the bitterness and disappointment that lay between them swam to the surface.

Leaning forwards like that left her breasts level with his mouth. His eyes fixed on them. His lips parted under her hand, his head straining towards her.

She shook her head. She wasn’t interested in ceding to his wishes. This was her time.

‘Later,’ she said. ‘If you are good.’

His eyelids lowered. His lips spread into a smile under her fingers—though they opened in shock when she got on to the bed, and straddled him.

He drew his hands out from under his head, and reached for her hips.

‘No!’ She grabbed his wrists and pushed his arms back up above his head.

He was very much stronger than her. So the fact that he’d let her do so demonstrated that he was willing to let her take charge. Which was crucial.

She rewarded his submission by leaning forwards and brushing a kiss on his forehead. Then on his cheek. His chin. His throat. She licked round his Adam’s apple as he swallowed convulsively, then she sat back, releasing her hold on his wrists so she could run her hands along his arms, tracing the contours of his biceps, then his wonderfully powerful shoulders. She smoothed her fingers over his hair-roughened chest. Stroked his flanks. His stomach.

Oh, but he was gorgeous. So well formed. So masculine.

And all hers.

He sucked in a sharp breath as she shifted back, to look at what she could feel nudging her soft warmth. She drew one finger tentatively along its length, then slipped her whole hand between his legs to cup him.

He gasped and surged up beneath her. She glanced up. At some point during her exploration of his body, he’d grabbed hold of the iron railings of the bedstead and was hanging on to them for dear life, if the tortured expression on his face was anything to go by.

She lifted off him, kneeling up and leaning forwards so that she could nuzzle the tendons straining in his neck. Her breasts just brushed his chest.

With a muted groan, he writhed from side to side, straining upwards towards them. But he didn’t grab her. Or try to wrest control from her.

He could have no idea how much that meant to her, but her heart swelled with gratitude just the same.

And something darker. The unaccustomed feeling of power was heady. She could do whatever she wanted. Whenever she wanted.

And what she wanted was to explore and taste every single inch of this glorious body. So she started to kiss her way along the same trail her hands had taken. Licking at his nipples, nibbling at his flanks. Raining light kisses on his stomach.

Running her tongue the entire length of his erection and swirling it round the tip.

By the time she stopped playing with him and shifted over him so that his thick shaft brushed against her slick folds, he was trembling. And panting. His hips undulated as though he couldn’t quite help just that tiny amount of movement, but still, he waited until she was ready. Until the moment was perfect for her.

She leaned forwards, rubbing her breasts the entire length of his quivering body, delighting in its strength, its hardness against her softer, womanly flesh. Her whole bloodstream was fizzing. She had never felt so alive, so bold...or so aroused. She had to have him inside her. Now. She reached down and took the most masculine part of him in her hand.

He was panting hoarsely now, a sheen of sweat standing out on his brow as she positioned him at her entrance, then sank slowly, deliciously slowly, down upon him. Feeling him filling her, meeting her need...oh, completing her.

As though she’d let him off the leash, he thrust up hard, once, twice.

She leaned forwards, bracing herself on his shoulders to increase friction at the spot where she ached and yearned.

He thrust once more and sensation exploded inside her. Her entire body shook with the force of the most intense orgasm she’d ever experienced.

And he was coming, too.

He throbbed and pulsed inside her. So deep inside her.

And then he caught her as she collapsed down on top of him, wrapping his arms round her as she lay shaking and spent, listening to the thunderous heartbeat pounding beneath her cheek.

She couldn’t believe it was all over so quickly.

Although...perhaps it hadn’t been as quick as all that. She’d been simmering with arousal ever since that kiss. Each word they’d spoken, each look they’d darted each other had been a form of extended foreplay.

‘Lydia,’ he murmured, placing a kiss on the crown of her head. ‘Lydia.’

The tenderness, the awe in his voice, matched how she felt, exactly.

When he rolled her to her side, kicking his legs free of the sheets, she made no protest. Apart from the fact she was as limp as a rag doll, she was curious to know what he would reveal about himself now.

She’d just discovered he was nowhere near as selfish as she’d thought. A selfish man would not have let her play with his body, surely? Or let her take her pleasure exactly as she’d wanted it?

He kissed her. Stroked her hair. Told her she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen.

She kissed him back, grateful that he was ending their session this way, with caresses and words of praise.

He could have just closed his eyes and started snoring while she peeled herself off him, grabbed her clothes and slunk back to her room.

Instead, he was making the whole time together absolutely perfect.

‘Please don’t tell me I may not touch your breasts now,’ he murmured, wriggling further down the bed so he could nuzzle them.

It was surprising and flattering, too, that he should still want to, now that he’d got his release.

‘You may,’ she whispered, running her fingers through his hair, holding him to her breasts.