Love Lessons at Midnight (5 page)

The earl stood out in the crowd, guiding his horse through the throng sloshing along Oxford. While others hunched down in the rain, scurrying hither and yon to escape, he rode as if the skies were not pouring cold spring showers. She leaned out the carriage window just enough to call out to him.

Rob recognized the crisp, cultured voice calling his name over the seething babble of street vendors and cursing draymen. Lady Fantasia? Then he saw the veiled woman in the expensive, unmarked black coach. Of course, if she hid her identity on her own property, she would do so in public. He cut across the press of soaked pedestrians, rigs, and riders.

“Might I offer you a ride in this beastly weather, m’lord?” she inquired.

Had he seen her somewhere today? The severe bonnet with its heavy veil looked vaguely familiar. As if she had cued it, the rain turned into a downpour. “That would be most kind, if you are certain it is no inconvenience.”

“I would not have stopped if it were, m’lord. Please tie your reins to my carriage and come in out of this deluge,” she instructed.

Looking about the busy street, Rob did as he was bid and climbed in the open door. The coach’s interior was commodious, upholstered in deep black velvet. In the dim light, the black-clad woman seemed to blend into the squabs. “Still careful to conceal your identity, I see,” he said as he took a seat across from her. “Might I ask why?”

“You may ask, but I will not answer,” she replied.

“Was there perchance a Lord Fantasia whom you mourn?” he asked.

“I do not mourn,” she replied sharply, then settled back and tried to focus. Sitting so close to him in confined quarters during daylight was insanely dangerous. She took a steadying breath.

“The first time we met, ’twas I who was nervous. Now it would appear our roles have reversed.” He smiled ruefully, recalling his awkward interview with the mysterious madam four days past. Had one night with Gabrielle given him this new confidence…or was it Lady Fantasia’s shift in demeanor?
She is vulnerable.
The thought surprised him.

She watched as he brushed glistening droplets of water from his dark hair and jacket. His presence seemed to fill the space. The aroma of damp wool blended subtly with a faint hint of horse and the male essence of him. She rearranged her skirt, tucking her slippers beneath the hem to avoid touching his Hessians. His long legs stretched across the space between them.

When he felt the carriage start moving into the traffic, he said, “You may tell your driver—”

“He knows your direction.” At his raised eyebrow, she replied, “Recall your first visit when I told you all patrons are discreetly investigated.”

“So you know my city house is not overly far from your establishment. What else might you know?” He peered at her veiled face, wondering again if it matched her splendid figure. The urge to reach across the coach and lift the veil on her bonnet was almost irresistible. The older man sitting next to her driver would probably shoot him. Both fellows had a military bearing about them.

“Would it surprise you to learn that upon occasion I attend parliamentary speeches?”

“I suspect there are many things about you that would surprise me,” he replied honestly. “Did you hear me speak?”

“I was in the gallery when you described the abominable
exploitation of children this past week. You were most impressive.”

“I thank you for your kind words, but my oratorical abilities, such as they are, have had little effect.” He had been correct. She had surprised him once more. This topic was the last one he could have imagined.

“Do not look so amazed. Even a ‘frail flower’ requires diversion, and since there were no cock fights or bear baitings scheduled for that day, I decided a session of Lords would serve almost as well. I’ve often found it difficult to discern much difference between political debate among the Peers of the Realm and the crowing and roaring of bestial combat.”

Rob blinked, then threw back his head and laughed. “I detect a cat-in-cream tone in your voice. You tease my earnest efforts.”

“Hardly. I quite agree with Mr. Hazlett regarding your skill. However, the majority of your colleagues must have taken Mr. Swift’s satiric reference to infant cannibalism in his
Modest Proposal
quite literally. Abusing children is not the natural order of things, nor should it ever be.”

“Have a care now. You sound like a bluestocking holding forth in her salon,” he replied, amusement in his voice.

“As an adherent of Mrs. More and Mr. Wilberforce, you would have no use for intellectual salons, would you? Too much sinful vanity in such places.”

“I support Mr. Wilberforce on abolition. But he is blind to barbarity here at home and I have often taken him to task over the issue.”

“And Mrs. More?” she asked.

He pulled a face. “She believes the poor should be rewarded in the next world, not this one. I am not persuaded that starvation is a prerequisite for heaven.”

“Then you attend other than reform gatherings?”

He shrugged. “Where ideas are freely exchanged…and
political alliances are forged, I have been known to lurk, yes. Even to lift a toast or two when the occasion warrants.”

His smile lit up the dim interior of the coach. How charming he was now. She compared him to the nervous, angry man who had come to her four nights ago. “Might I offer you some cognac, then?” she asked, opening a hidden compartment beneath the armrest to reveal a small crystal decanter filled with amber liquid and a set of glasses. “After being soaked in the rain, you might catch a chill. It would be an unconscionable waste to lose a reasonably enlightened man. The nation has too few of them.”

Rob laughed. “You are a most gracious hostess, Lady Fantasia. Since I, too, would dislike thinning the ranks of ‘reasonable enlightened men,’ I’ll be delighted to share a cognac with you.”

She poured a small amount in a glass, amazed that her hands remained steady, but when she reached out to give it to him, her gloved fingers touched his warm flesh and she nearly dropped the drink. He had removed his wet gloves and she could see those marvelous hands, remember how they…No! She quashed the erotic image. Those feelings belonged to Gabrielle, not Lady Fantasia.

As she poured herself a glass, he said, “I would not have imagined your interest in politics.”

“I, too, have been known to lurk,” she replied dryly, feeling the burn of fine liquor steady her nerves. “Indeed, even to skulk.”

He raised his glass at her bon mot and took a sip with a chuckle.

“Are you a Whig or a Tory, m’lord?” she asked.

“Agreeing with neither on the whole, I hold no party affiliation,” he replied.

“Then you belong to both Whites and Brooks?”

Rob smiled. “Also Boodles.”

“Because the food is far superior?”

He nodded. “I did possess vices before I arrived at your door,” he said. It was suddenly easy to admit such a thing to her. “I am obviously no saint, plaster or otherwise, Lady Fantasia. What of you, hmm?” he could not resist asking. Would she answer?

The turnaround question took her off guard for a moment. “Mrs. More would not approve, but my mentor and I have rescued a few women from the same abuses you so stirringly describe in Lords. None who have chosen to remain under my roof have been forced to do anything against their will. My guards and footmen are, almost to a man, former soldiers, turned out by our Regent’s government when the war was won.”

“You’ve done well to offer them work. Neither Prinny nor our great hero Wellington have even offered them gratitude.”

“One cannot eat gratitude,” she replied tartly. “Have you ever given shelter or employment to anyone in need?”

“From time to time. I find it difficult to turn away from a crippled child begging on a street corner. My cousin runs a school for them at my seat in Kent.”

Amber blinked. “My, you are filled with surprises, m’lord. Noblesse oblige?”

He gave a bitter scoff. “Haven’t you heard? Noblesse oblige has been guillotined.”

“Regrettably, the revolution in France has had a dampening effect on our country…but I believe there is always hope. You must, too, else you would not labor as you do in Parliament.”

“Are you, like Gabrielle, of the nobility?” The question popped out before he could reconsider asking.

“If ever I was, ′tis long past.” She made a dismissive gesture with her hand. He was too perceptive for comfort. She must tread very carefully.

“Were you ‘rescued’ by that mentor you mentioned earlier?”

“Suffice it to say, Grace Winston is the mother I never had in childhood.” It was madness to bandy words with such a clever man. She was relieved when the carriage pulled up in front of his city house, an elegant redbrick structure. “We are here, m’lord. I bid you good afternoon. Gabrielle will await you at midnight.”

Rob was about to thank her for the gracious rescue when her words jarred him. How could he have forgotten Gabrielle? Memories of her passionate kisses and soft little moans of pleasure flooded his mind and body. He had been wild with frustration when she had halted their passion last night. How extraordinary that a mere conversation with the English madam had so distracted him!

“I greatly appreciate the ride and the cognac. You are most kind,” he said as he stepped down and untied the reins of his horse from the rear of the carriage. Sketching a bow to the lady in shadows, he bid her good afternoon.

As the carriage pulled away, he thought of the lady in shadows and the lady in darkness…to whom he would go tonight.

But neither of them was any longer a lady, he thought sadly. Somehow he knew that they were blameless in the loss of their virtue. Sighing, he climbed the steps and entered the foyer of his lonely house.

Ever efficient, Clyde Dyer reported back to Amber early that evening. The earl’s baroness was indeed a widow. Her husband, Charles, had died the past year of a lung inflammation, leaving her alone with a baby and a family whose fortunes were in decided decline. Was she a fortune hunter who would break the earl’s heart?

“That is no concern of mine,” she muttered savagely as she crumpled the report and threw it onto her escritoire. But
she was concerned. Very much. Dare she caution him about the baroness? No, she dismissed that insane idea the instant it popped into her mind. A bordello madam presuming to warn a peer about avaricious women! He would stalk out of the place and never return.

Amber felt as tense as a drawn bowstring. What could she do? Looking at the ormolu clock on the mantel, she saw that it would soon be midnight.

And she would become another woman.

He entered the chamber with more assurance than he had felt the night before. Undressing eagerly, he doused the light and stretched out on the large bed. As he lay alone in the dark, all thoughts of the English madam vanished like the wisps of smoke from the candle.

Gabrielle’s soft fragrance would soon tease his nostrils, her silky touch inflame him. Butterfly wings! Butterfly wings! He gathered all the self-control he could muster for the night ahead.

By the time he heard the soft swish of the opening door across the room, he was rock hard. His breath came in barely stifled gasps. Then a small, cool hand touched his face, caressing his brow, brushing the hair back.

“
Mon commandant
is happy that I have returned,
oui
?”

“Do we resume where we left off last night?” he asked hoarsely.

“Hmmm…” She appeared to consider as she placed one knee on the mattress. “A woman is not a…how would you compare it…a coffee grinder? Left sitting half filled with beans, one can simply begin to turn the handle again and, voila, it starts just where it stopped before.”

“Then tell me, how does a woman work?” he asked.

“We begin with kissing my wrists…then my arms…”

“Then your throat…” His voice was muffled as he took
her hand in his, turning it palm up to start the butterfly wings beating once again.

He only prayed that he had learned his lessons well enough to progress beyond kisses this night.

M
oving slowly, he continued kissing her palm and fingertips while he sat up on the bed facing her. Then he proceeded up her arm until his mouth finally reached her throat. He felt the madly beating pulse in the tiny hollow at its base. She was as excited as he! A surge of pure joy jolted him. She trembled and moaned softly when he buried his hands in her hair. “ ′Tis like silk,” he whispered, gently tugging her head back. “I would love to know its color.”

Neither wanting to lie nor daring to tell the truth, Gabrielle arched her neck to distract him with an invitation. When he nibbled his way over her chin to her lips, she eagerly waited for the next kiss. But he stopped. “What is wrong,
mon cheri
?”

Rob remembered the libation he had shared with Lady Fantasia only a few hours ago. “I taste of cognac. Will that disturb you?” he asked.

Gabrielle felt a deep warm glow at his consideration. She bracketed his face with her hands. “All that disturbs me,
mon commandant,
is that you have stopped. I would taste this cognac…to see if it comes from a fine chateau,” she whispered. “We French are experts.”

He rimmed her lips with the tip of his tongue; then when she opened to him, he made a delicate invasion. Their tongues danced, tentatively at first, then with increasing ardor. He could feel her hands buried in his hair, tugging at his scalp. She gave herself so eagerly, returning his kisses
with fire. When he felt the lush softness of her breasts brush his chest, his arms naturally pulled her closer.

Gabrielle almost panicked. He was big, powerful, male. She could feel that power in his embrace.
But he is also kind and gentle.
Pulling her mouth free, she murmured against his throat, “Let us try something new…
s’il vous plait?
” She placed her hands against his chest and separated them. As before, he released her immediately, although she could tell by his breathing that he did not want to do so.

Rasping, he asked, “What is this new thing…please?” His fingertips lightly traced circles on her upper arms, as much to distract himself as to please her. He felt ready to spill his seed without so much as a touch on the rock hardness of his erection.

“Kneel facing me,” she commanded softly.

He complied. When she took his hands in hers and placed them around her breasts, he gasped. “They are not large…” she said hesitantly.

“They’re perfect,” he murmured, feeling her nipples through the sheer silk of the tempting concoction she wore. He squeezed gently, or what he thought was gently.

Gabrielle wrapped her small hands around his wrists, making a shushing sound, restraining him. “You must begin slowly, softly.”

“Yes, butterfly wings,” he whispered ruefully, letting his fingers glide around the upthrust mounds until he could feel the nipples tighten and hear her breathing catch. She arched forward, encouraging him.

“You must learn to feel a woman’s reactions. Does she offer herself or draw back…how does her body move? How does she…breathe?” she said, trying to be pedantic, but he was teasing her nipples so they burned and tingled, growing ever more sensitive. She guided his hands so that he cupped a breast in each palm as if weighing them.

It seemed natural to let his thumbs press on the tips and make circling motions. “Do you like this?” he asked raggedly, feeling certain she did. He felt an irresistible urge to use his mouth on them, but before he could ask, she spoke.

“It is time to remove this barrier between us,” she said breathlessly, reaching down to lift up her gown.

Rob could feel the whispery fabric brush against his erection and groaned, but fought the urge to push her backward onto the mattress and proceed. If the room had not already been ink black, he would have felt blinded by his need. No—butterfly wings, he reminded himself…butterfly wings! She placed the silk in his hands and guided him to raise it slowly over her head, lifting her arms to assist him. Then he sent the soft bit of fluff sailing away in the darkness. She was as naked as he!

“What now?” he asked, unable to stop his hands from returning to her breasts.

“Let us explore…I will go first,
oui
? Then you follow.”

“Oh,
oui, mai oui,
” he replied as her nails raked lightly over his chest. He never imagined that flat male nipples could feel such sharp pleasure.

She felt his heartbeat pound as she pressed her palms against his hard pectorals, delighting in the crisp hair sprinkled across them. “You speak French,
mon commandant!
” she asked, certain he did because all educated Englishmen learned, with varying degrees of skill.

“Well enough, I suppose,” he replied raggedly in that tongue.

His accent was very good. “Then let us continue making love…in the language of love,” she said in flawless Parisian French. She moved her hands up to his shoulders and glided over the flexing steel of his biceps, holding on to him, dizzy with breathless excitement. “Now it is your turn,” she whispered.

Following her lead, he glided his palms over her bare breasts, down her rib cage, to the narrowness of her waist.
“ ′Tis so tiny I can span it with my hands,” he said in wonder, drawing her closer as she held on to his shoulders.

Gabrielle loved hearing him speak French in deep, breathless whispers. Arching her back, she raised her breasts like an offering, using one hand against the back of his neck to draw his head downward.

He groaned when his mouth found a hardened nipple and suckled on it. She gasped, seizing his head with both hands. When she grabbed fistfuls of his hair and drew him closer, she writhed with the scalding pleasure. “The other one…do not neglect the other one,” she whispered.

Rob moved from one breast to the other, using his tongue as he had done during the kissing instruction. Her sharp little cries of pleasure lured him on to bolder action. He nuzzled the vale between her breasts and brushed her nipples with his lips, tugging gently on them with his teeth, then drew a pear-shaped globe into his mouth until she moaned.

After several moments of the exquisite ecstasy, Gabrielle knew she was slipping over the edge. He murmured soft love words to her in French as he lavished her breasts with caresses that stole her reason. She must not let her own body’s hunger, her desire for this man, blind her. He had come to learn what was required to bring a lady to culmination.
A lady…
She felt a sad, sudden twist deep inside her and knew it was her heart’s pain.

She also knew she must do what was right for him. There would be reward enough for her before their assignations ended. Ever so slowly, now feeling assured that he would follow her lead, she pulled away with a breathless murmur. “Lie back and I will lie beside you.”

Breathing hard, he lay down but kept his arm around her waist, pulling her to his side. He was careful not to let her near the painfully sensitive hardness of his sex, which was straining for—and so dangerously close to—release. He wanted to ask
her if she felt as he did…but was damned if he knew how, or even
if,
a woman achieved the same kind of release as a man.

In his limited experience, he had never known one who genuinely did, although the Spanish camp followers had feigned pleasure. But then they had gotten up and walked away as soon as they were paid. This felt a world apart from those brief and tawdry encounters. He reached over and stroked her breasts, letting his hand trail down her belly, so soft and flat, toward the apex of her thighs. When he drew near the mound, he hesitated.

Gabrielle knew this was the moment. She would find out if he could bring her what she had only been told existed…what he wanted to give the woman he intended to marry.
Please, let it be possible!
Taking a shuddering breath, she said, “Do not be afraid, my love.” She moved his hand over her mound, into the soft curls. He sucked in his breath.

He heard her breathing grow ragged when he touched the heated center of her body and felt her petals. “You’re wet,” he said in English before he could think better of it.

“Pleasure…excitement causes a woman to…to release moisture,” she reassured him.

He rubbed his fingers delicately against her satiny heat until she cried out when he separated her petals.

“Ahh!”

He stopped. “Did I hurt you?”

“No, no! Please, continue…only go softly, slowly…” She guided his hand until his fingers, those long beautiful fingers, found the rhythm she craved. He patiently stroked her, his senses newly attuned to the subtle nuances of her body. She arched her hips against his caresses, urging him on without needing to say a word, although her small moans and gasps of excitement spoke volumes.

Suddenly she tensed and then shuddered, almost coming up off the mattress with a keening cry. Her hands clawed at
the sheets as she felt—really, truly felt for the first time in her life—that culmination she had only heard other women describe. Words could never do justice…Her world spun out of control for what seemed like an eternity.

Rob knew the rhythmic pulsing he felt at her core must mean she had achieved release. Surely a woman could never feign such a thing. In spite of the intense ache of his own unfulfilled needs, he felt jubilant. He had given a woman pleasure—real pleasure, not the cold, lifeless acceptance of a wife’s duty or the counterfeit fervor purchased with silver.

“Did I please you?” he asked, praying he was right.

In answer, Gabrielle rolled across his chest and began raining kisses over his face and neck, crying joyously, “Yes, oh, yes, a thousand times yes! It was…” Words deserted her, so she used her mouth another way, kissing him deeply, with such fire that he groaned and wrapped his arms around her.

“Now,” she murmured against his throat, “it is time for you.”

Rob started to roll her onto her back, but then stopped as a sudden thought struck him like a lightning bolt. Why had he never thought to consider it before this! “Gaby…” How in bloody hell did one ask about preventing conception? Courtesans knew, but Gaby had not been with a man since being raped. “Have you…? What I mean is…could my seed take root inside you?” he blurted out, then cursed silently for his awkwardness.

“Lady Fantasia has shown me what to do. Never fear, my major, I am protected—but you are kind to ask,” she murmured, caressing his cheek and drawing him closer once more.

Rob required no further encouragement. He parted her legs, prepared to enter her, but she pressed her palms against his chest. Stifling another groan, he stopped…barely. “Please, have mercy, Gaby,” he whispered fiercely.

“Oh, I intend to be very…merciful,” she whispered in
return. “Now lie back.” He complied. “Remember what I said about exploring bodies…hmm?”

A smile touched his mouth in spite of his extremity. He was learning far more than he ever could have imagined. What a remarkable creature his lady in darkness was!

She sat up and let her hands glide down his chest, following the narrowing arrow of body hair over the hard muscles of his abdomen…“You are very strong,” she cooed breathlessly, pausing only long enough to feel his body tense in anticipation. “And very much a man.” Her hand closed around his staff, grasping it, feeling its heat. “It is so smooth…and long.”

“Does that please you?” He could barely get the words out.

“All of your body pleases me. Women enjoy the freedom to touch, to become familiar with a man’s body…to admire its power…provided…”

“Provided…?” He spoke through gritted teeth now.

“Provided the man has a body as splendid as yours.”

He had never imagined touching his naked body could bring a woman pleasure. Oh, women admired his face and form in public, but that was entirely different. She leaned over him and kissed him, her breasts pressing against his chest, her hair spilling around his shoulders like satin.

“Now,” she murmured against his mouth, wrapping her arms around his shoulders. He rolled on top of her without breaking the kiss, his hands caressing the curve of her spine, the flair of her hips. He worshipped her body as she had his. How could any woman resist parting her thighs, inviting him? “Please, come inside me…but…do not end this swiftly as nature urges you to do.”

He paused at the entrance to paradise, aching yet amazed. “You can…you can do it again—this way?” he blurted out.

“Not this time, I think…but your pleasure will be greater if you prolong the culmination…and I have not been
taken by a man in so long that…you might hurt me if you rush.”

He felt a wave of tenderness mixed with the breathless excitement that inflamed him. “I would never hurt you, Gaby,” he whispered.

Ah, yes, you will…but not in the manner you imagine.
“I trust you, my love,” she murmured.

Tamping down the fire raging through his blood, he brushed the head of his staff against the creamy moisture of her petals. They felt swollen. She made a slight sound—discomfort or excitement? He was not certain. Setting his jaw, he held still for a moment, waiting for her signal. “Are you all right?”

The concern in his voice made her heart ache for his sweet intensity. “Please, this feels wonderful,” she whispered, burying her mouth against his shoulder.

When she arched and clamped her thighs around his hips, he pressed down, easing an inch into her. Then he forced himself to stop. She was incredibly tight, every bit as much as—no! He would not think of Credelia now, lest his manhood desert him. “My little one,” he murmured in French as he kissed her temple, her nose, then her mouth, urging her to return the fevered caresses.

His mouth was magic, but his staff was stretching her, bringing back the old terror…yet she realized that this time there was no pain. She was not exactly certain what it did feel like, other than fullness, the merging of his body with hers.
Concentrate on the kisses!
She felt him ease a tiny bit deeper, shaking with the strain of holding back when she knew he wanted to blindly plunge.

But he will not do that. He will not cause you pain.
She arched her back, allowing him to move deeper, accommodating slowly to his size and hardness.

Rob felt her tightness enveloping him. Losing control
would be all too simple. But he would never forgive himself if he hurt this sad, loving woman. Gaby had suffered so much already. Holding on to that thought, he eased in a tiny bit at a time, waiting for her body’s signals that she wanted him to proceed. The creamy moisture still slicked his path. That was a good sign…was it not? He kissed her deeply and sank farther into the drowning well of bliss.