An Introduction to Pleasure (13 page)

Lysandra didn’t know how this quick reversal had occurred. One moment she had been putting her lessons from earlier in the day to good use. She liked taking Andrew into her mouth, for it was obvious that the act gave him great pleasure. More surprising was how much it aroused
her
. Giving pleasure was almost as intense as receiving it.

But now, as Andrew sucked her nipples with a pressure that stayed just on the correct side of the pleasure-pain border, her back arched and her mind emptied. It was amazing how this touch, so far away from her sex, could make her body tingle and her legs shake as she teetered on the edge of orgasm.

He tugged her dress to the floor and then lifted her, wrapping her legs around his back as he strode across the room, kissing her with each step. She suddenly found her back against the chamber door.

She gasped as he lifted his hips and speared her with his cock in one slick stroke.

“Already ready for me,” he growled as he nuzzled her throat. “Just as I like it.”

He thrust and pressed her against the door even harder, closing any bit of distance between them. Lysandra gasped of the sensation of being so filled, so possessed. There was no space between them, no air between them beyond the breath they shared. Her face was even with his and their eyes met. For a moment he stopped moving and just stared at her, almost as if he was seeing her for the first time.

He tilted his head and kissed her, but there was little harsh possession in the kiss. This was gentle, like a bride’s first kiss. He brushed his lips butterfly-wing soft and then let his thrusts join that gentle touch. He moved slowly within her, cupping her hips gently, holding her steady as he slipped within her hot sheath.

The pleasure of his touch, of the intimacy of his kiss, built suddenly, rapidly and burst within her body without warning. Lysandra arched against the door with a strangled cry that no doubt made its way to the hallway and the ears of the servants, but at the moment she couldn’t care about that. Her body was out of her control, jolting with pleasure that seemed to start at her core and spread outward with warm fingers, making every part of her ache deliciously.

And Andrew gave her no respite from the sensations. He continued to drive into her body, his thrusts once again increasing in intensity. Lysandra thought of the major’s face earlier in the day when he had come. How lost to sensation he had looked. She stared at Andrew, his eyes squeezed shut, his face taut with tension and pleasure and saw that he too, was as tangled in desire as she was.

She cupped his cheeks and kissed him, driving her tongue into his mouth as another burst of orgasmic bliss made her hips jerk out of control.

Andrew cried out against her lips and set her down, steadying her even as he withdrew and his hot seed splashed between their bodies. He rested his forehead against hers, their bodies flush, and they stood there for a long series of moments.

Their breathing matched and merged and Lysandra let out a long sigh of pleasure. This closeness…she had never felt anything like it. There was a warmth between them that rivaled the pleasure of release.

She wrapped her arms around his neck and smiled. “Oh, Andrew—” she began.

But she got no further, for Andrew jerked from her embrace and spun away from her, taking his warmth, taking her happy feelings with little more than a backward glance.

Chapter Twelve

Andrew snatched his trousers and walked across the room to the fire where he began to put them on. He could feel Lysandra staring at him from across the room, and her hurt was palpable. He had, once again, pulled away from her.

But he had no choice. That moment against the door was supposed to have been one of pure sex, passion. It had become something else. There had been a connection between them. And he could scarce afford to make that connection.

More to the point, he didn’t want to.

He finished buttoning his pants and turned to find Lysandra collecting her dress from the wrinkled pile on the floor. She held it as a shield in front of her as she examined the torn arm and the missing buttons.

“I shall mend this,” she said, more to herself than to him.

He stepped forward with a shake of his head. “Don’t bother, Lysandra.”

Her gaze jerked to his, and she parted her lips. With her hair mussed and her face red, the action was utterly sensual. God damn, but he wanted to put her back against the door again and have her a second time. And they had scarcely been parted for five minutes.

What was wrong with him? He hadn’t felt this kind of an urge to rut with a woman since he was a young man first discovering pleasure. That was supposed to be Lysandra’s role, not his.

“Are you saying you no longer want me here?” she asked, and her trembling words returned his attention to her.

“What?” he asked and shook his head. “No, of course not. I meant don’t bother repairing the gown. You need new ones. I should have arranged for a dressmaker straight away, but I hadn’t thought of it.”

Lysandra blinked up at him. “New gowns? No, I cannot afford that.”

His eyes went wide. “Do you think I was suggesting you would pay? Dear Lord, you
are
innocent when it comes to the ways of the protector/mistress bond. Your protector does a great many things, Lysandra. He pays for your home, your food, your servants, and he ensures that you have all the gowns and jewelry you need.”

She folded her arms. “The necessities I understand, my lord. But gowns? That is pure frivolity. I could not allow for you to pay—”

He cut her off by lifting his hand. “You cannot be seen out with me or any other man in the
ton
dressed in a gown that is three seasons or more out of date, a size too large and designed for a middle-class merchant’s daughter.”

She sucked in a breath and turned her face as if he had slapped her. For a long moment, she was silent and stared at the floor. Then she nodded.

“Very well. I will see your dressmaker. I wouldn’t want to embarrass you.”

He shut his eyes. Once again, he had hurt her when he was trying to give her something as a gift. And he shouldn’t have cared, but he did.

He softened his tone. “You have a household account, Lysandra. So that you don’t have to ask me for things that you need. And your pin money is also available to you. You only need to write to the solicitor, whose name and direction I will leave with your butler. That money is for things like clothing, shoes, hats, lunches with friends, whatever you choose to do with it. I’ll make sure extra funds are deposited for the gowns.”

Lysandra shifted, utterly naked, but he could see her discomfort stemmed more from the idea that he would provide her with money rather than her nudity. He supposed that was a step forward in her training.

“Andrew, you are only meant to be my ‘protector’ for a few weeks, aren’t you? You didn’t want more than that. How could I ever repay you for giving me so much money?”

He wrinkled his brow. “I am not asking you to repay me beyond your company and your desire. That is the point of the protector/mistress bond. As brief or as long as it lasts, there is parity in the roles, I assure you.”

She shook her head as she stepped into her gown and covered her lush curves with the ugly fabric. She buttoned the dress as best she could with a shake of her head that told Andrew she didn’t fully trust his account of their relationship.

He sighed. “We shall not speak of this again, Lysandra. The money is yours and I expect you to spend it accordingly.”

He could see she wanted to argue further, but she pressed her lips together with a brief nod instead. “Very well. Thank you.”

He nodded. Good, that was resolved. At least there was something in this complicated relationship that was.

“I would like to take you to the opera in a few days,” he said as he shrugged into his shirt. “And I’ll be certain the dressmaker I’m sending over knows that she should focus on that dress so that it will be ready before we are to attend.”

Lysandra swallowed and any remnants of the boldness she had shown him earlier vanished in a flash. “The opera? Vivien said you would begin to take me out, but…”

She trailed off and Andrew stared at her. “You seem truly worried by this, Lysandra, but you must know that going out is part of a mistress’s duty. And you will love the opera. Many go only to gossip, but there is a singer with a beautiful voice at the current showing who I am certain you will enjoy.”

She nodded, but he could still see her hesitation, her lack of faith that she would belong in such a place, alongside the cream of Society. And he wanted to comfort her. To reassure her. To protect her, beyond what the role of “protector” entailed.

He shook his head. That was enough of this. He had to get away from her and the spell she apparently weaved on him. Before he lost himself and his own goals entirely.

“I will pick you up Saturday night. Your servants will have the particulars later in the week. Until then, I—” He stopped, for he could think of nothing better to say. “Goodbye.”

She nodded and accepted the brief kiss he pressed to her cheek as he passed her by and left the room, but as he called for his horse, Andrew knew he had, once again, hurt her. And in the process, he seemed to hurt himself.

Lysandra had expected the dressmaker, of course, but not within two hours of Andrew’s departure from her home. And yet here she was, standing on a stool in her dressing room, with the woman, Madame Bertrande, measuring her for gowns and chatting away pleasantly in the prettiest French accent Lysandra had ever heard. If the seamstress knew she was Andrew’s mistress, Madame Bertrande treated her no differently and was polite and kind in every way.

“You have a very nice figure,” the woman said as she measured around the circumference of Lysandra’s chest. “Built exactly as a man likes it, without being too showy.”

Lysandra blushed. That comment answered her unasked question about the
mantua
-maker knowing she was a mistress. She somehow doubted she said such a thing to men’s wives or daughters as she measured them for gowns.

“That is all, my dear,” she said as she offered Lysandra a hand to come down from the stool. “Your ballgown will be made first, as per Lord Callis’s instructions. I will call on you for a second fitting in two days and will deliver the dress before four on the day of the opera.”

“It must put you out to do something so quickly,” Lysandra said with a blush.

Madame Bertrande laughed. “I suppose it does, but Lord Callis pays exceedingly well for that privilege.”

Lysandra stifled a sigh. Once again, it came down to money. Andrew showered her with it, even though she was but a temporary mistress at best. Not to mention the fact that he could scarce be in the same room with her once he had made love to her.

“He has chosen a beautiful fabric for that dress, as well,” Madame Bertrande continued, oblivious to Lysandra’s thoughts. “It will suit you very well. But for the other five gowns, I will need you to choose what fabric to make them in. I brought samples.”

Lysandra staggered. She couldn’t have heard that correctly. “Five gowns? Did you say
five
?”

The dressmaker nodded, her gaze reflecting confusion. “Yes. His lordship said you need a full wardrobe. This will be a start to that and will get you through most events. It will take me a fortnight to complete them all, but I will do it.”

Lysandra shook her head as the world swam before her eyes. She had seen a glimpse of a ledger sheet when Madame Bertrande was measuring her and the cost for each gown was so high. For the price of just one, she could pay her cousin’s demands for the care of her mother for two months, perhaps even three!

“I
do
appreciate your and Lord Callis’s desire to see me well-dressed,” she said, treading carefully as she didn’t want to offend when Madame Bertrande had been so kind to her. “But I cannot demand five gowns. Six when you count the ball gown.”

The other woman tilted her head and looked her up and down. “My dear, you clearly need the clothes.”

Lysandra fought the urge to huff out her breath. That was twice her clothing had been maligned in the span of a few hours. She knew she wasn’t ready to meet the Queen, but for heaven’s sake, it wasn’t as if she was running around in a sackcloth.

“Yes, apparently I do,” she said through gritted teeth. “But why don’t we start with the ball gown—” she thought of the dress Andrew had torn “—and one other that I can wear for everyday use. And once those are finished, we can talk again.”

Madame Bertrande looked at her evenly, but then shrugged as she gathered her things. “Very well. If that is your wish. It was a great pleasure meeting you, Miss Keates. You are a very interesting woman. I’ll send word to make an appointment when I’m ready to do the next fitting.”

Lysandra nodded and walked her to the door of the chamber. “Thank you. I do look forward to seeing the gowns. Your own dress is so beautiful, I know I shall feel just like a princess in a story in my own.”

That made the other woman’s expression soften, and she smiled as she slipped into the hallway.

Lysandra shut the door behind her and leaned against it briefly. What a day. Between her spying on Vivien’s friends to her erotic encounter with Andrew and now the dresses… it was almost too much.