WaltzofSeduction (2 page)

Chapter Two

At the knock on her door, Sara sat up in bed. Her heart
leapt with hope. Colin never visited her bedchamber two nights in a row. But
there was always the possibility of a first time.

“Enter,” she said, a little breathless.

The door opened and he came in, still wearing his evening
clothes. His cravat was askew but otherwise he looked every bit as elegant and
handsome as he had earlier in the evening. Did he want to share her bed? Her
belly tingled at the prospect and her body began to prepare for him, as it
always did, wetness seeping into the folds of her cunny.

But on second glance, she could see his jaw held firm, his
eyes burning with something close to anger. Her belly tingled again, this time
with apprehension. He was unhappy with her over the gown. She should never have
listened to Priscilla. Her dear friend was an earl’s daughter. She could afford
to flout the rules. It was different for Sara.

“Will you come and sit?” Sara patted the place beside her
hopefully.

He shook his head.

There were depths to her husband that he sometimes allowed
to show. Dark and dangerous depths that made her aware of how little she still
knew him. She might never truly know him, she realized. His personal, inner
face might only someday be shown to some courtesan who managed to catch his eye
and win his heart. When that happened, Sara would be forced to smile and turn
the other direction. It was just the way with Mayfair gentlemen.

A sick sadness welled in her stomach.

“I was somewhat less than truthful when I said I wasn’t
angry,” he said.

“Colin, I am sorry—”

He held up his hand. “Hush and hear me out.”

She clamped her jaw closed, drew her knees up and rested her
chin on them.

“I resent that I may not waltz with my own wife at a ball.
You are my wife and I want the world to see us together as a couple.”

“But the very thought makes me ill.” She blurted the words
before she thought.

“The thought of waltzing with me makes you ill?” He raised a
brow.

She hugged her knees tightly, glancing down at the bed. “No,
the idea of waltzing in front of all those people.”

“You’re not a girl anymore. You are a mature, married woman
and you must act the part. Two weeks from now, at your birthday ball, you will
waltz with me.”

“Please, Colin, I—”

“I am determined to have my way in this,” he said.

He didn’t understand. He had been born to this society
world. She was the plain, well-dowered commoner he wed. A social climber,
people would say. A pretender. An interloper.

But still, commoner or not, she was his wife now. She owed
him obedience to his wishes.

“Don’t worry.” His voice softened. “We shall practice and
practice until it is second nature. In fact, we shall start tonight. Come.” He
held out his hands. “Arise and waltz once with me and then I shall leave you in
peace for tonight.”

“But Colin, it is late and I am so tired.”

“Indulge me.”

She rose from the bed.

“Wait,” he said. He lit the lamps, then returned to her and
placed his hand firmly on her waist and took her hand. His large palm eclipsed
hers, all warm and strong.

“Colin, this is just going to humiliate me. I can’t.”

“Yes, you can. Just follow my lead.”

She touched his shoulder, her hand tingling as it closed
over the hard bulge of his muscles. He pulled her closer. She sensed his
warmth, smelt the clove and citrus scent of his shaving soap. Then she smelled
something else. Brandy. Her mouth fell open and she pulled back slightly.

“You’re foxed, aren’t you?”

He grinned, flashing strong white teeth against his tanned
skin. “Only the slightest bit. I can still dance, never fear.”

He pulled her closer again. Being this close to him always
made her body vibrate and pulse, even in the most secret places. She wished so
desperately they could spend each night like this. Close and romantic. What a
silly, girlish wish. Marriage was for making heirs and love was for lovers. But
she didn’t wish for any other lover. Except her husband.

“Attend to me, Sara,” he said. “You cannot daydream whilst
dancing.”

He led her around the chamber, taking his time. Still, her
bare feet landed on his time and time again and he caught her several times,
steadying her on her feet. Finally he stopped.

“Do you see now? It’s hopeless,” she said laughingly.

“Dancing needs lubrication.” He walked to her sideboard and
poured a glass of wine then handed it to her. “At least two of these, that’s my
recommendation. Then we try again.”

They drank in silence. He took a half a glass and she one
glass. Afterward, she danced worse than ever.

“Wait, this is no good.”

“As I said, it is hopeless,” she said.

“Don’t be so quick to give up.” He reached up and tugged the
knot on his cravat free. Then he slowly unwrapped it. “Here,” he said, catching
her wrist and winding the linen strip around it.

Alarm accelerated her heartbeat and she glanced up at him.
“What are you doing?”

“Trust me.” He moved behind her and took both her hands. She
felt him tugging and pulling.

Then he faced her. “Now we try again.”

She pulled at her hands. She couldn’t move them. He had
bound them together. “Colin?”

He came back to face her and clasped the sides of her waist,
holding her firmly. “I will not let you fall. Do you trust me?”

“I suppose,” she replied. But she worried about his state of
mind. He did seem a little foxed.

He began to move, slowly. She stared down at her feet.

“Stop counting the steps.” He pointed at his face. “Look me
in the eyes. Feel this in your stomach, not your head. Trust me.”

Her feet wouldn’t obey.

“In my eyes,” he said.

She took a deep breath and tried to concentrate on this
mysterious thing he seemed to think she would see in his eyes. He smiled at her
and then she did feel something in her belly. A gushy sensation that did
nothing to steady her balance. She returned his smile. He was certainly more
handsome than her dancing master had been. More graceful as well. They finished
the dance with a few trips and stops. Then mercifully, it was over.

They rested a moment.

“I think I have it, will you untie me now?”

“Oh no, my Lady Lockhart. That was just practice. If you
trip this time, you shall owe me two waltzes at that ball.”

It was an unfair edict. She felt helpless as a marionette in
his arms. She didn’t know how she was expected to keep her balance.

After a time, his steady blue gaze transfixed her. She
forgot about her feet and just followed him. He was right, there was something
in the stomach. A feeling of connection between what she saw in his eyes and
how her feet seemed to move in tune with his as if by magic. He twirled her
faster and faster until she was laughing and trying to catch her breath. He
slowed down and bent his mouth to her ear.

“This is waltzing. And you dance beautifully when you forget
yourself.” His husky voice sent shivers though her and her nipples drew tight.

His lips touched hers. His tongue caressed her lower lip in
feathery strokes. Her lips parted of their own volition and his tongue swept
into her mouth. Hot, wet and wine tinged.

Dear sweet heaven.

He had never kissed her like this. She wanted to embrace him
but he didn’t seem in a hurry to release her from her bonds. Maybe she should
ask. But then, Priscilla said men didn’t like to be directed in the bedchamber.

His face scraped hers, startling her. He was always clean
shaven when he came to her bed. He touched her breasts, his fingertips flirting
over the peaks. Her nipples tightened even harder, pressing through the gauzy
nightgown. He groaned softly then pinched one nipple between his thumb and
forefinger. Spears of delight pierced her and centered low in her belly. She’d
never felt anything that powerful, that direct. Wetness trickled between her
cunny lips. She gasped.

He stopped and stared down into her face. His eyes were
darkened to a purplish hue, glittering with desire. “I can’t help myself.”

He bent down, his mouth homing in on her breast. His tongue
lathed a nipple through the thin cloth. With the hot, wet moisture it felt as
if he licked bare flesh. He cupped the other breast, squeezing it lightly and
drawing the other tip into his mouth. He drew on her as if he were a babe.
Pleasured warmth surged through her and the trickle of wetness between her legs
became a deluge.

He had never been like this with her. Then again, he’d never
been in her chamber when intoxicated. Maybe that was what made the difference
with a man. Oh, she wished she could move her arms and embrace him. She became
aware of her vulnerability and strangely, it sent pleasurable shivers through
her.

He raised his head, his eyes blue and wild. Then he backed
her to the bed and eased her down onto it. “I want my rights.” He kissed her
neck, open mouthed and hungry. “Can’t wait.”

Twice in one week? Well, it was certainly a move in the
right direction. Maybe the claret gown
had
helped. Her channel clenched
as if in answer to his question.

“Yes, yes,” she breathed.

He fumbled with his pantaloons then pulled her nightgown up.
He looked at her and seemed to freeze. It was the first time she’d been bare to
his gaze in the light and the moment proved more than a little embarrassing.
The urge to pull her gown back down was strong but her hands were still tied.
She bit her lip, wishing he’d move on to the next part and cover her body with
his.

He traced the outer lips of her cunny and she jumped.

“Do you mind if I touch you there?”

“No, I am yours to touch, aren’t I?”

He smiled. “You’re so very sweet, my darling. And you are
correct. You are most definitely
mine
.”

Nervousness made her giggle. His finger trailed into her
moist flesh and rubbed lightly, starting first on the sides and then
concentrating on the central nub. She caught her breath. That part of her began
to tingle in the most delicious way. He increased the speed and the pleasure
intensified. Moans seemed to bubble up from the depths of her. She bit her lip,
harder this time, trying to hold them back. It surely wasn’t ladylike to moan
like a cat in a back alley with a tom. But a moan still rose, coming out as a
strangled sound.

He glanced up. The skin was tight across his cheekbones and
his eyes glittered darkly. He almost frightened her. A thrill raced over her.

He knelt and put the head of his cock to her flesh. Dear
heaven, she was so wet. He would know. He would know how badly she wanted him
there. Inside. How she couldn’t wait for him to push himself deep and stretch
her tight, fill her completely. The thought lent a delicious sort of
vulnerability to the moment, making her wetter than ever. Her channel
contracted, aching and empty.

But he seemed in no great hurry. He rubbed the head slowly
over her nub, tracing it in warm, sliding circles. And it was better, vastly
better, than his finger. She arched up and moaned, no longer caring how it
might sound. Everything was drawing tight, as if any minute something was going
to happen. Something momentous. She moaned and moaned, straining there on the
edge.

The clock chimed two in the morning, startling her. She
tried to sit up but couldn’t because her hands were still trapped beneath her,
still bound.

He startled as well, glancing at the clock then back to her,
his eyes glazed with desire.

He smoothed the hair off her forehead. “Pardon me for
dawdling, my love.”

He thrust inside, and then pulled almost all the way out.
Then plunged again. She gasped. Dear heaven, it wasn’t just pleasant this time.
It was
good
. Like raspberries and clotted cream good. Each stroke was
sweeter than the last. She was wetter than the other times and she could hear
the slurpish little noises their joining bodies made. She could smell her own
scent on the air. Strangely, these things only ratcheted her excitement higher.
The tension began to coil tight and low again. Her breath grew shallow and quick,
as quick as his thrusts were becoming. Her heart pounded against her rib cage.
Oh
God, oh God, oh God.
Then she was holding her breath, waiting. She arched
up to meet his thrusts, straining to find…something.

He stopped.

He groaned. It was so loud, such an uninhibited sound from
her husband, that her eyes popped open. He stared at her as if stunned. Then
his eyes closed and violent shudders racked his whole body.

He slumped against her. The bedding smelled of their sweat
and stale brandy. Her hair was damp, sticking to her scalp. The chill of the
air sank into her bones, making her shiver. An aching soreness was settling
into her pelvic regions. She couldn’t help a disappointed moan.

He kissed her cheek then panted in her ear. Several moments
passed, then he kissed her cheek again. “Thank you for indulging me.”

After a few moments, he rose.

She tried to reach for him, to draw him back. But she
couldn’t move her hands. They were still bound behind her back, underneath her.
She couldn’t even feel them anymore.

“Colin,” she called after his departing back.

He turned. “Yes, my love?”

“My hands.”

He hurried back. “I forgot.” He worked quickly then he
examined her wrists, rubbing them lightly. “Are you all right?”

“Yes, of course,” she said, despite her hands tingling with
pins and needles.

He smiled and dropped a kiss onto her forehead. “Good night
then.”

* * * * *

Colin had left the house by the time Sara arose. She moped
about, saddened that he didn’t come and wake her to say goodbye. He often did,
especially on a morning
after
. But he had grown distant more and more of
late.