Marissa Day (8 page)

Then, with a wordless cry, he pushed her back, so she fell against the other arm of the sofa. She stared at him as he reared over her, his long, thick cock swollen and shining from her attentions.

“Oh, you greedy thing!” he gasped. “Shameless, greedy wanton!”

He was on top of her, sparing her none of his weight, but she wanted no sparing. His mouth fastened on hers and his tongue delved into her. She felt his cock press into her folds and she arched underneath him. He reared back, his hands planted against the sofa arm on either side of her head. He poised there, the tip of his cock resting against her entrance, his eyes staring into hers. She saw wildness and darkness, delight and sorrow all swirled together with a world of memories and emotion she could not understand. But all that was lost as he plunged into her so far she felt his tight balls against her folds.

Jane cried out in delight and relief. Finally,
finally.
He filled her absolutely, thrust into her mindlessly. All games were over and done. There was no control, no finesse. Her legs wrapped around his hips, pulling him tight. Her heels dug into his thighs. Jane distantly heard herself calling his name, urging him on, but in truth, she was intent only on the sensations of their fucking; of his cock in her sheath, of his thighs working between hers, his balls rubbing, pressing, grinding against her folds as he strained to reach deeper. She was weeping for the pleasure as she fought to clasp him inside her, hold him still at the point of his deepest thrust where the pleasure burned brightest.

“Come for me, Jane!” he roared. “Come now!”

“Ah!” Pleasure’s burning waves engulfed her. Her hips bucked, utterly beyond her control. She wanted no control, no end to this moment. She was drowned, lost, and he was crying out again, thrusting faster and harder, and he was coming too, coming hard, calling her name as his release merged into hers, rolling them both deep into a tide of pure joy.

J
ane scarcely knew how she got back to her own room. Thomas bundled her into her nightdress and robe with so many teasing caresses that she begged for him to take her, just once more. He’d silenced her with a firm kiss.

“Soon, Jane.” His mouth brushed her ear, imparting flashes of desire with each whispered word. “You will have me again soon.”

With the heat of that promise singing in her veins, Jane stumbled through the sleeping house and to her own room. She cast her night robe over the back of a chair and crawled beneath the blankets. Her skin and hair were as damp as if she’d lain in the dew. She shivered from the early morning chill, but much more from what she had just done. She knew she needed to think about her actions. There were important considerations beyond the pleasure they had brought her. She had much to plan, and to decide, but she couldn’t. She could only burrow under her covers and sleep.

“L
ady Jane? It’s nine o’clock, madame.”

Jane sat up, pushing wayward strands of hair out of her eyes and blinking hard. Tilly was opening the curtains to let the rain-washed sunlight sweep into the room.

Memories of Sir Thomas and of their wicked tryst flooded back to Jane. She remembered the passion and delight and all the wanton abandonment she’d experienced under his hands, but try as she might, she couldn’t remember exactly where she had been, or how she had gotten from that other room to this.

It was a dream.
Jane frowned.
It must have been just another dream.

“It’s a glorious morning, madame,” announced Tilly as she picked up Jane’s night robe and shook it out. “Cleared up a treat after all that rain. It’ll be cold though. Perhaps the green muslin for today?”

“Green, yes,” Jane murmured. The room had been hung with green. Thomas had worn a green coat. But it wasn’t possible she’d met Sir Thomas here in Kensington House, much less done . . . all those things with a man in the flesh.

“Very good, madame.” Tilly folded the robe across her arm. As she did, a scrap of black cloth fell out of the pocket and drifted to the floor. Jane reached for it reflexively, and a sudden dizziness washed over. It was a black ribbon. The black ribbon. The one she had removed from Sir Thomas’s hair while she undressed him. Before she took his cock into her mouth at his command and sucked on it so hungrily.

It was real.
Jane’s hand closed around the ribbon.
It
is
real.

“Where’d that come from?” Tilly frowned. “I’m sorry, madame. I thought the girl had tidied up in here.”

“It’s of no importance, Tilly.” Jane said, forcing her gaze away from the ribbon. “The green muslin will do very nicely, thank you. I’ll need my cream shawl as well, since you say it is cold, and the gloves that match. Also, please be sure my satin bonnet with the roses is brushed up. The duchess may have errands for me today.”

“Very good, madame.” Tilly bustled off to put away the night clothes and bring out the day apparel. Jane opened the cover of the book at her bedside, and slipped the ribbon inside.

As she sat in front of the dressing table with Tilly brushing her hair, Jane searched her face for any change. Surely the abandonment of every propriety to blatant sensuality must leave some outward sign. But no, that was still Jane Markham DeWitte in the mirror. Jane of the undistinguished brown eyes and reasonably good chestnut hair, the oval face with its skin still clear despite being almost thirty, except for the single obstinate freckle beside her nose.

It was only inside she had changed. For already her mind was drifting to the book and the concealed ribbon, and beyond these, to Sir Thomas and his secret room. Oh, she was Old Jane enough to want to know how any of this had been possible, and she would question him closely as soon as the opportunity presented itself. But more than knowledge, she wanted to be in that room again, where she could receive his touch and his kiss, and play more of the games of desire and pleasure he devised.

Jane shivered once. Then, she mustered enough personal discipline to set those hot, nighttime thoughts aside. The day had begun. She had duties that would not wait on her fantasies. Her patrons seldom woke before eleven, but Jane, as the duchess’s lady, had to be dressed, breakfasted, and ready to wait on her mistress as she made her toilet.

Jane found herself to be surprisingly refreshed, as if she had slept a full night rather than just an hour or two after a . . . series of exertions. She also had a tremendous appetite. Consequently, she was very glad when Tilly pronounced her fit to be seen so she could take herself across to the private dining room. As might be expected, the Kensington House staff was very efficient, and a piping-hot breakfast had been laid out on the sideboard. Jane helped herself to a chop, toast and marmalade and a cup of strong coffee. She then took a seat at the otherwise unoccupied table and prepared to enjoy her meal.

But as she tucked in, the door opened again. Jane looked up to see the man who entered, and muffled a small sigh.

“Captain Conroy,” she said, keeping her voice studiously polite.

“Good morning, Lady Jane.” Also studiously polite, Captain Conroy, the duke’s personal secretary bowed. “May I join you?”

“Certainly,” she replied because she had no choice. It would not be reasonable to refuse another member of the duke’s household a seat at the breakfast table.

“Thank you.”

Although she tried to keep her attention on her own breakfast, Jane could not help sneaking glances at the captain as he helped himself to the food. Conroy was a tall man with a long, handsome face. His dark hair was richly curled, but had also begun to recede. He kept his sideburns full, perhaps to make up for this fact. This morning he wore a sober burgundy coat over a waistcoat striped blue and white. The excellent cut of his clothes, the heavy gold chain across his middle and the diamond ring on his right hand spoke of his rank and prosperity. Jonathan Conroy handled all the Duke of Kent’s affairs, which, considering the duke’s ever-growing mountain of debt, took both persistence and delicacy.

The captain had traveled with them all the way to Saxe-Coburg and back, and in all that time he’d never been anything less than polite and correct to her. Despite this, Jane could not find it in her to actually like Captain Conroy. He had a way of watching everyone and everything as if calculating its worth that got into the back of her mind and left her profoundly uneasy.

“So, how does this morning find you, Lady Jane?” Conroy settled himself across the table from her with his plate of kippers and coddled eggs.

Jane did not consider John Conroy attractive, as she knew some ladies did, but even she had to admit he had a pleasant voice. The combination of his Welsh and Irish ancestries gave his words depth and musicality.

“Very well, thank you.” Jane nibbled at the corner of her toast. She now regretted taking so much food. It would make a quick retreat more difficult.

“And how did you like Lady Darnley’s rout? A dreadful crush, I thought.” Conroy’s eyes sparkled with all the suppressed glee of the unrepentant gossip. Jane found her dislike deepening by a fraction of an inch.

She sipped her coffee to buy time while she framed a diplomatic and empty answer. “Lady Darnley’s parties are always excellent. I think the duke enjoyed himself.”

“I believe you are correct. Did you hear anything of interest?”

Jane’s shoulders stiffened. Conroy stirred two lumps of sugar into his cup, tasted it, and added a third, but all the time, he managed to still eye her keenly. Was he looking for a sign that he had flustered her? Nonsense. Why would he do so?

She sliced off another portion of her chop. “I don’t know what you mean, sir.” He was very quick on the uptake, was Captain Conroy. This should inform him she was no fishwife to chatter with anyone who came within earshot.

Conroy, however, did not seem prepared to take the hint. “Come, come.” He set his cup down on its saucer with a clink. “Our mistress asked you to bring her the news did she not?”

Jane frowned, feeling somewhat caught out. She had been so consumed by her tryst with Sir Thomas, she had nearly forgotten the reason she was sent to Lady Darnley’s ball to begin with. That was inexcusable for a confidential companion to one of the royal family.

“Surely you cannot expect me to tell you before I speak to Her Grace,” she replied coolly. “Much less require me to speak when I have not been given permission.”

“Very good, Lady Jane.” Conroy raised his coffee cup to her in salute, quite ignoring her frown. “Your discretion does you credit.”

“Do you mean to test me, sir?”

“I pray you, take no offense. It is only that I have been in the duke’s service for a long time, and the situation at court is so very . . . changeable these days. You can understand, I’m sure, how important it is that we who serve be kept abreast of any turn of event that might affect our households.”

Jane studied Conroy’s face. His countenance was open and his blue eyes seemingly free of guile. Perhaps she had been mistaken. She had been so concerned of late with keeping her own position secure, she might have succumbed to one of the most common diseases of the courtier—suspicion of other courtiers.

“I do understand, Captain,” she said. “And I will be happy to speak with you on any subject, after I have spoken with Her Grace.”

“Again, your discretion is greatly to your credit, but, Lady Jane, strictly between ourselves . . .” He glanced meaningfully toward the door before he leaned forward, planting his elbow on the table. “Is it not the case that sometimes those born to the highest positions lack, shall we say, a certain practicality? It is no fault of theirs, of course. Their attention is occupied by weightier matters. It is for us to apply our efforts toward smoothing their paths, and anticipating their needs.” He smiled again. “And naturally, nothing must disturb Her Grace at this time. Any agitation could prove injurious to her health.”