Justine Elyot (18 page)

‘Never mind the servants. And my brother has his own little scandal to attend to.’

‘Oh, you know about that!’

Charles’s eyes widened.

‘
You
do?’

‘Sort of stumbled upon them, by the lake. Oh, they didn’t see me, don’t worry.’

Charles smiled sadly. ‘Poor Tom,’ he said. ‘But you see; he will be in no hurry to blow any whistles on me.’

‘I suppose not.’

‘Can you whistle?’

Edie giggled at the tangential turn the conversation had taken.

‘No, or at least I have never tried.’

‘Never? Try it now. Go on.’

‘No!’

But she rounded her lips and blew through them, laughing again when only air escaped.

‘Lick them first. Make them moist.’

Edie felt horribly shy.

‘Or I shall do it for you.’

She passed her tongue hurriedly over her lips then repeated the experiment.

‘Blow more gently.’

A third attempt succeeded in producing a low bird-like note.

‘You see, you can do it. And now you will always possess the ability.’

‘Why on earth do you care if I can whistle?’

‘I don’t. But watching your delicious pouting lips like that is quite enchanting. It makes me want to …’

He put a finger to them, letting it glide along her wetted lower lip before pushing it ever so slightly further, meeting the tip of her tongue. Before she knew what she was doing, she sucked upon it.

‘That’s where my tongue should be,’ he whispered, and she had no way of fighting the purposeful kiss he bestowed upon her after that.

The kiss spoke to her. You want this, said his tongue, his teeth, his lips. You cannot pretend otherwise. You want this always, morning, noon and night. Don’t blame me for giving it to you.

The fight was over. She wanted him and he knew it.

‘Come to my room,’ he murmured into her ear.

‘I shouldn’t …’

‘What’s the worst thing that could happen?’

‘Lots of things.’

‘You might fall for me.’

Exactly
.

But she was weary of thinking, of resisting, of reasoning, of trying to work out the best and least dangerous move. She wanted only to shut it all out and give herself up to a pleasure that now seemed inevitable.

And at least she would
know
, then. She would not be one of those women, single for life, always wondering what the secrets of their married sisters might be. She would have the best of both worlds – the experience of pleasure and the freedom to choose her own path in life.

But might such experience be a Pandora’s box, raising unwanted evils to the surface of her life? It was a risk, like everything she did in this place.

It was a risk she would take, along with Charles’s hand as he stood to lead her back to the house.

They entered through a little-used door in the West Wing. The beds were all made now and the maids busy in other parts of the house, so they were able to hurry through the corridors and up the staircases unobserved.

Energetic grunts issued from one part of the passageway. Charles turned to her and grimaced. ‘Thomas is much more vocal in bed than in life,’ he said. He took her hand again and tickled her palm. ‘I wonder if you will be.’

The idle speculation brought home the enormity of her actions. She was about to enter his room a virgin and leave it a woman of experience. She wondered if it would show on her face, in her demeanour. Did it change a person?

They arrived at his room and, despite the wide open windows airing the place, the aroma of Charles hung in the air, larger than him, pervading the atmosphere like a great seductive Deverell cloud.

He shut the door with his foot and held her against him, looking seriously down at her.

‘No silly tantrums this time, hmm?’ he said. ‘You must promise me that you want this, and it isn’t some game or deal.’

‘You didn’t seem to mind it being a game or a deal before.’

‘No, but I’ve thought a lot about you since then. Didn’t get a wink last night, in fact. And I’ve decided that we do this as independent adults who want each other, or not at all.’

‘
You’ve
decided?’

‘Haven’t you?’

She tried to look away but his searching gaze compelled her to respond.

‘Yes,’ she muttered. ‘All right.’

‘So are you going to kiss me?’

She banged her knee mutinously against his, but she did not reject his suggestion, and stood on tiptoes to reach his lips. The minute they touched, he had his hand at the back of her head, keeping her fused with him until she was kissed into a state of knee-trembling sensuality.

‘I like that little black-and-white outfit of yours,’ he said, breaking off. ‘But it has to go.’ He reached behind and untied her apron; then his fingers plucked at the dress buttons above. It was so stiffly starched that its removal was a bit of a struggle, but she turned around obediently enough to let him finish.

Her bare shoulders were treated to the featheriest of kisses up to her neck and she shivered, looking at the bed through half-closed eyes. His hands strayed from her upper arms and reached around to rub against her breasts in their light summer camisole. She shut her eyes tight when he discovered her nipples, undisguisably hard and swollen.

‘Mmm, how’s that?’ he whispered, and her answer came by way of her bottom, which she pushed back against him, flexing her hips in a shameless come-hither. Although, she thought half-coherently, he already
was
hither. Could she beg him to come
more
hither?

He kept up this electrifying pressure, stroking her nipples while he kissed the tender skin of her neck ever more ardently, patiently waiting for her desires to soak through her until she was heavy and dripping with them.

When he slid one hand inside the elastic of her drawers, she moaned but made no attempt to squirm away.

‘Just like before,’ he said, his tongue poking around the soft flesh behind her ear. ‘Just as wet and ready for it.’

His palm flat against her tendrilled down, he curled his fingers and slipped them between her nether lips. She abetted him in this, tilting her pelvis forward to bring her eager clit to his attention. He was not slow to act upon her message and he caressed it with firm slow strokes, his other hand still cupping and rubbing her nipples, his mouth now suctioned to hers.

If it weren’t for the tight pressure of his arm against her stomach, she thought she would stagger and lose her footing, so unreliable was the strength of her legs now. Nothing existed or mattered but his touch upon her, and her body flowering into wantonness beneath it. If this was ruin, she understood now how some women rushed headlong towards it. To wait for a husband who might never come … oh, why would one, when this could be had so easily, so sweetly?

She remembered the feeling from last night and knew when the first stirrings of that release flickered in her belly.

She whimpered and gyrated her hips, parting her legs wider to urge him on.

But instead, he took his fingers away, laughed and slapped her bottom.

‘Get on to the bed,’ he said.

‘Oh!’ she exclaimed, disappointed beyond measure.

‘Don’t pout at me. You’ve already had one set of jollies. I want to keep you on the edge now, make sure you’re properly hungry for it.’

‘You’re a …’

‘I know, I know. Go on then.’

She sat herself beside a bedpost at the bottom of the bed and watched from heavily lowered brows as Charles undressed.

‘Keeping her on edge’, indeed. But she was, she couldn’t deny. Her clitoris felt like a lead weight between her legs, as if every drop of blood in her body had concentrated there. There was a tingliness, a weakness almost reminiscent of influenza. That thought made her smirk –
oh, Edie, you are such a romantic.

‘What’s funny?’ She couldn’t so much as twitch an eyelid without Charles noticing, it seemed.

She shook her head and swallowed, watching him unlink his cuffs, his hawk-eyes upon her.

‘No, tell me.’ He came closer, looming a little in only his shirt and suspendered argyle-pattern socks.

‘Just that my head’s a little light,’ she said. ‘It reminded me of the ’flu.’

‘I don’t think the ’flu’s any laughing matter,’ he said, raising an eyebrow before removing the shirt entirely.

‘I know, just … I’m nervous.’

He crouched before her and took her hands.

‘It’s natural,’ he said. ‘But think how many girls have to give themselves the first time to hopeless bunglers. That’s not the position you’re in. I’ll make it good for you, I promise.’

She smiled weakly, then laughed in merry earnest when he stood back up.

‘What now?’

‘You look so funny in those socks and nothing else.’

‘Damn,’ he said, reaching down to unclip the suspenders. ‘You’d think a rake of my long standing would have learned by now – take the socks off first.’

Edie covered her mouth to prevent any more giggles escaping. The socks made a soothing distraction from the other salient feature of Charles’s naked body – the one that was destined to find its way inside her.

Her amusement was soon displaced when Charles, now fully naked, stretched out on his back beside her and said, ‘Come here.’

She hesitated, still sitting on the edge of the bed, her neck twisted to look at him – his face, of course. She kept her eyes severely off the
other thing
.

‘You’re afraid, aren’t you?’ he said, one arm cradling the back of his head, so insouciant he could have lit up a cigarette.

‘No.’

‘Come on then. Lie down beside me. Or on top of me. Or sit astride me. I don’t mind. Take your choice. Oh, but you can take off your undies first.’

With her back to him, she stood and removed her camisole, drawers and stockings until she too was naked. It felt rather liberating, actually. Not as deadeningly embarrassing as the night before – perhaps that had broken her reserve. She was showing him nothing he had not already seen.

All the same, she was a little reluctant to turn around and show him her full-frontal view and she dived quickly on to the bed on her front and lay there for a moment or two of acclimatisation.

‘Are you hiding from me? You’ve got nothing to hide, Edie. Are you still nervous?’

She nodded.

He stroked the nape of her neck, exposed by the tight bun into which, by a process of trial and error, she had scraped and pinned her hair that morning.

‘You knew what a naked man looked like, didn’t you?’

‘Of course.’ She raised her face, giving him the full benefit of her scorn. ‘I’ve been to the British Museum. I’ve seen plenty of statues and artworks.’

‘What kind of statues and artworks have you been looking at, to see a man in this condition?’ he asked teasingly. ‘Give me your hand.’

He managed to chivvy her onto her side, facing him, took her wrist and placed her hand on top of that alarming part of him.

‘It’s not like the statues, is it?’

‘No. It’s bigger and it doesn’t … hang … in that way they do …’

‘No. And do you know the reason for that?’

‘Something to do with … no,’ she amended, slightly horrified by the feel of the appendage beneath her palm.

‘You,’ he said, kissing the tip of her nose. ‘You are the reason for it. Wrap your fingers around it … like that. What do you think of it?’

‘I hardly know what to say. It is … I expected something less … inflexible. I am also a little taken aback by its size … width, I suppose.’ She shot him a grimace of true fear.

‘You don’t think I can fit? Ah, but you’ll see.’

She clenched the muscles around her own small, tight opening. It seemed impossible but, on the other hand, she had often marvelled at how women managed to get an entire baby through there, so perhaps he was right.

‘I have heard it can be painful. The first time,’ she ventured.

‘Yes. There may be a little blood. Just a little, as a rule. I don’t suppose you ride?’

She shook her head.

‘Ah, that sometimes does the job for one. Never mind. You can tug on it, if you like. See what happens.’

She yanked her closed hand upwards, so suddenly that he hissed.

‘Gently,’ he managed to say. ‘Squeeze as tight as you like but don’t pull too hard. Up and down a little. You see what happens?’

Edie observed the looseness of the skin at the top of the shaft and how it sometimes revealed, on her downward stroke, a little more of the smooth red tip beneath. She also noticed a pale, near translucent, bead of fluid there. Babies. What babies were made of.

‘You got the French things?’ she said in a gabble of speed, recalling the dangers of the act – dangers her mother knew all too well. Those were footsteps in which she had no intention of following.

‘Letters? I told you I did, didn’t I? They’re in the top drawer. But we don’t need them quite yet. Keep … yes … doing that … mmm.’

His face was interesting to watch now; he was deeply flushed and his eyes seemed to flicker under almost-shut lids.

‘All right, enough of that,’ he said suddenly, clamping his hand on top of hers to still its rhythmic motion. ‘Are you still on edge?’

Her mind raced straight back down between her legs. Yes, she was.

‘Edie? Are you?’

‘I … don’t know.’

‘Well, I’m damned sure I am. And if you aren’t, I’d better tighten the strings again, hmm? On your back and open your legs for me.’

Edie bristled slightly at his overbearing manner and thought of fighting him, but then, he was the one who knew what he was doing. Perhaps she should just make this as easy as possible for both of them. So she lay down and watched his face, transfixed by the play of light and shadow, the gathering of his brow, the darkening of his eyes as he bore down on her, reinserting his fingers between her soaked lips.

‘All right, you’re wet enough,’ he said, patting her lightly between her thighs. ‘I’m going to put this damn thing on, now. Are you all right?’

There was a little dip of concern in his voice and Edie tried to compose her brow, smoothing out the furrows.

‘Perfectly. Why shouldn’t I be?’

He chuckled as he rummaged in the bedside drawer.