Unbefitting a Lady (19 page)

* * *

Bram kissed her hard. It felt good to do that. She’d
been driving him mad with lust in that riding habit since early this morning.
Her hair pinned up beneath a little hat placed at a jaunty angle made her look
every inch the regal woman. Made him want to take that hat off and pull her hair
down pin by pin until she looked appropriately tousled.

His hands were at her waist, drawing her firmly against him,
wanting her to feel how much he desired her, wanting her to know that, in spite
of his ulterior motives for leaving the tea shop in a rush, he’d wanted her
nonetheless. It had been a near-run thing in there, a reminder of how close to
the edge he was living by coming to Epsom.

He’d known the couple that had walked in. George Rupert, the
Earl of Elsford’s son, and his sister, Gwendolyn, a former pupil at Nannerings.
He’d been to their home for an entertainment or two over the years. There was no
reason for them not to acknowledge Lord Bram and within moments they would have.
He wasn’t ready to be discovered yet. He had too much discovering of his own to
do before the game was up.

Phaedra moved against him, her hips seductive in their motion.
‘We should probably stop before this goes much further,’ Bram murmured.

‘When, then?’ Phaedra’s eyes were serious as they held his, her
arms still about his neck. ‘I want to be with you again, Bram. From the feel of
things, you want to be with me too.’ Her voice was quiet, her proposition more
honest than bold, and it touched him quite unexpectedly.

He should refuse. He tried. ‘I promised your brother—’

Phaedra cut him off. ‘We have three days, Bram, a gift.’ Her
hand dropped between them, cupping him through his trousers, and he knew he was
in trouble. The student had become the master in such a very short time. ‘We
should spend them as we wish.’ She kissed him on the mouth, on the column of his
neck, at the base of his neck where his pulse beat hard beneath his shirt.

‘Then what?’ He had to try one more time to make her see
reason. Things had ended badly at Castonbury.

‘Then we’ll see what happens next.’ Phaedra kissed his mouth
once more. ‘Say yes, Bram. I want three days, not a lifetime.’

‘A good man would refuse on moral grounds.’ Good heavens, he
did not want to be that man right now. He wanted to say yes.

Phaedra reached up on tiptoes and blew gently against his ear,
the apple-cinnamon scent of her teasing his nostrils. ‘I don’t want a good man,
Bram. I want you.’

‘Then you shall have me.’
For however long
it lasts.

‘I’ll save the having for tonight, if you don’t mind,’ Phaedra
whispered impishly.

What had he gotten himself into? Epsom would be a challenge.
For now, he had his hands full, or rather Phaedra did, and he intended to enjoy
every moment of it.

Chapter Twenty-One

P
haedra raised her knuckles to knock on
Bram’s door. How he’d managed a room at the crowded inn she didn’t know, but she
wasn’t going to quibble. Tonight,
she
was going to
seduce
him
. She was going to show him she’d meant
what she’d said about their three days.

Bram answered, dressed in shirt and breeches. She stepped
inside and shut the door behind her. She said nothing, just reached for the pins
holding her hair.

Once the Derby was over, the future between them was once again
uncertain. She’d go back to Castonbury and establish her stud. Bram would go to
who knew where and do who knew what.

His mouth found hers; his hands rested possessively at her
waist, her arms about his neck, her body pressed to his. She’d asked for this
and it wasn’t enough, it was nowhere near enough. She was supposed to be doing
the seducing.

Bram’s hand at her breast, palming and stroking through the
fabric of her bodice, was building a whole other heat that raged low in her
stomach. The fabric that had seemed so thin when she’d bought the gown now
seemed too heavy, too confining.

‘Take it off,’ she breathed, her own hands pushing at the small
sleeves. But Bram stilled her impatient movements.

‘Easy, you’ll rip this and not have anything to wear.’

‘And if
you
rip it?’ Her voice was
hoarse with excitement and need. These were heady paths she travelled on
tonight.

‘You still won’t have anything to wear.’ Bram laughed. ‘But
I’ll be careful, I promise. I like undressing you.’ Bram trailed a line of
kisses down her neck, his own hands taking over, pushing the delicate
sage-coloured silk-and-lace confection over her shoulders. Phaedra shivered
decadently at the feel of nearly naked skin.

‘Ah, no silk smalls tonight. I’ve been missing them,’ Bram
murmured. His hands deftly worked the lacing of the short stays over the thin
linen chemise. The corset was not tight, it was only meant as support, yet
Phaedra felt she’d been freed as her breasts fell into Bram’s hands.

He pressed the fabric of her chemise taut against her breasts
and knelt in front of her, taking first one and then the other in his mouth, the
wet heat of his mouth and the friction of the cloth a delightful torment to her
senses. Her hands clenched in his hair as the sensations he evoked threatened to
swamp her.

His hands moved to her waist, gathering up the chemise in his
fingers until she was bare to him. He looked up at her from his intimate crouch,
his eyes burning, his smile wicked. ‘Sit down, Phaedra, I’m going to put my
mouth on you.’ She trembled at the decadent words. This was definitely no longer
her seduction, and she no longer cared. Her thoughts had become nothing more
than a kaleidoscope of sensation, her body searching for the satisfaction that
lay beyond these pleasure-laden shores.

Her hands found the bed behind her and she sat down hard. Bram
breathed against her mound, doing those wicked things she loved so much with his
tongue, his mouth, until she thought she’d scream, her mind holding on to one
slim thought: release would come. When it did, she was more than ready for it,
her hands anchored in the bed sheets, letting it take her in a rush of
gratification.

Phaedra fell back on the bed, a sigh of repletion escaping her
lips. ‘Heavens, Bram, you’ll be the death of me.’

The narrow bed took his weight and he stretched out beside her,
his dark head propped on his hand. His other hand was warm on her midriff, an
entirely possessive touch, and her body revelled in it. Phaedra covered his hand
with her own where it lay on her stomach. She interlaced her fingers with
his.

‘I’m not worried, you feel very much alive to me.’ Indeed, she
felt as if she’d not been alive before Bram, that her life had been a shadow of
its present self, waiting for him to release her from the chains of her
upbringing.

Phaedra rolled to her side and reached for him. ‘It’s like that
for you too, isn’t it?’ It wasn’t really a question. She remembered the way he’d
looked on the island when she’d taken him in her hand, the way he felt when he
clenched inside of her. His release had been as great as hers.

She stroked him through his trousers, then stopped suddenly.
‘No.’ She gave him a gentle push, enough to send him over the bed’s edge if he
hadn’t put his leg down for balance. ‘Take them off.’ She would reclaim part of
this seduction.

Bram grinned. ‘I beg your pardon, my lady?’

She grinned back. ‘You heard me. I said take them off.’

‘As you wish.’

Bram rose off the bed. He pulled his shirt over his head in an
enviously fluid motion, his hands resting provocatively at his waistband. He was
going to make her pay for her sauciness.

He undid the fall of his breeches, strong tanned hands against
the paler buckskin and brass buttons. Phaedra’s mouth went dry. She was
supremely conscious that his eyes never left hers while his hands worked the
fall. He was watching her watching him. Encouraging her voyeurism even with that
searing gaze of his.

He pushed his trousers down over slim hips and lean muscled
legs, baring himself unabashedly before her. Phaedra wet her lips at the sight
of him. She’d never get tired of seeing him naked. Her blatant perusal pleased
him. A dot of moisture beaded at his tip and wicked inspiration struck Phaedra.
She’d taken him in her hand before, but never this. ‘Come here, I want to taste
it.’

Her actions didn’t surprise her as much as her words. She was
entirely wanton with him where she’d scarcely noticed other men before. Yet
everything about Bram was captivating, addicting.

‘You’re a veritable hussy,’ Bram scolded, but she noticed he
happily obliged, edging closer to the bed to let her tongue do its work.

She teased him with her tongue in the manner in which he’d
teased her, pleasured her. She knew full well no decently bred girl engaged in
such an act—an uncivilised act, some would call it. Neither would any decent
girl throw her sacred virtue away on a mad romp with a man who could give her
nothing, a man who couldn’t or wouldn’t marry her. But when she looked at Bram,
she didn’t see that. She saw a man who shocked her, challenged her, encouraged
her passions and so much more.

‘Enough, or I’ll spend too soon.’

Phaedra obeyed. This was her turn to grin. She borrowed his
line. ‘You liked that.’

‘Damn right I liked it.’ Bram’s voice was hoarse. ‘I liked it
enough to forget to play the gentleman for a moment.’ He came up over her,
bracing himself above her. ‘I won’t be able to ask this again, Phaedra. Do you
want me to stop all this before it goes any farther?’

‘Are you crazy? Whatever gave you that idea?’ Stop? With the
intimate parts of his body grazing her? With the power of him rising above her?
Who in her right mind would want him to stop now?

Bram gave a slight shake of his head, his dark hair falling
forward, shadowing the planes of his face. ‘You know what I mean, Phaedra.’ But
she recognised he was hedging his bets. They’d not stopped before the
consequences had been disastrous. If they kept this up, they might be travelling
down the same road to the same unfortunate conclusion. Then again, this time it
might be different. They wouldn’t know until they got there.

He pressed a fluttering kiss against her neck. She recognised
he no more wanted to stop than she did. Phaedra put her arms around his neck,
drawing him into the circle of her embrace so that their bodies met, skin to
skin. ‘No, Bram, I don’t want you to stop.’

She opened to him, taking him perfectly, intimately, in the
cradle between her legs. Phaedra arched against him, feeling her body stretch
and be stretched to accommodate him.

He kissed her full on the mouth and they were off again, their
bodies synchronised not unlike a horse and rider.

A smile flitted across her face at the idea but she had little
time to let her thoughts wander that path. There was no time to think, only to
feel, only to follow Bram where he led down this new path of pleasure. She felt
herself flow into him, unable to discern where one began and the other ended.
Bram gave a final thrust and quickly withdrew with a rough, ragged sigh, casting
her adrift on a sea of sensations. She had shattered and was sailing on the
shards of her release, boneless and supple.

Bram lay next to her, his head propped in his hand, his free
hand tracing little patterns on her bare skin. ‘So now you’re ruined,
again.’

Phaedra gave a drowsy sigh. How could this be bad? She felt
glorious
. She felt absolutely
alive
.

* * *

Epsom mirrored the vibrancy she felt. When Bram escorted
her to the stables to check on Warbourne, she was amazed by the racing crowds
that swelled the streets to bursting. ‘Look at all these people!’ Phaedra
exclaimed, keeping a close hold on Bram’s arm in an attempt not to be swept away
by the sheer mass of people. Visitors came in all varieties: the wealthy
gentleman come to bet on the horses, the London lady looking for diversion, the
clerk and the banker, the farmer. All classes of people thronged the
streets.

‘I’d watch your reticule, if I were you,’ Bram warned. ‘Race
days draw an unruly element as well.’

Phaedra nodded, tightening her grip on the small beaded bag she
carried. She’d heard up on the Epsom Hill a pit had been set up for cockfighting
and vendors had put up booths to take advantage of the crowds that would flock
there for the races that afternoon. The crowds were beyond her expectations. She
had some small amount of interest in seeing the displays on the hill, but they
were outweighed by her gratitude for Bram’s foresight. He’d managed to get them
reserved seats in the grandstand.

At the stables, they checked on Warbourne. Matt and Bevins had
so far been vigilant in their duty to watch Warbourne night and day. They’d
taken turns sleeping in front of his stall, as had the other trainers with their
own horses, to prevent any trickery or injury. Phaedra had not believed in such
a necessity at first, but after seeing the crowds, she was glad she’d been
talked into taking the precaution. With so many people swarming the streets and
racetrack, it would be easy to slip into a horse’s stall.

Warbourne was fine. Matt gave her a full report before going to
weigh in for the Oaks. The horse had eaten and exercised early. Matt would be
riding that afternoon in the Oaks so the day shift fell to Bevins. Phaedra
nodded and listened intently to Matt’s report. Part of her wanted the Derby to
be over. The suspense was deadly. But part of her recognised that other things
would be over too, things she was in no hurry to rush.

She’d awakened in Bram’s room that morning, his arm draped
about her waist, her bottom nestled against his groin in a most intimate
fashion. It had not taken long for things to progress from there to a most
pleasurable conclusion. She could get used to waking that way every morning. The
problem was, she didn’t have
every
morning. She had
two mornings. She knew already two mornings was not going to be nearly enough.
Two weeks hadn’t been enough so why ever would two days suffice? And yet it
would have to do.