Submitting to His Lordship (16 page)

“It is.”

“Did your sister spend many years in India?”

“She was born in India, but my mother returned with her to England when conflict escalated between the Company and the Maratha Empire.”

“How long have you served as her guardian?”

“Six years. After my father died of malaria. My mother died of a broken heart a year later.”

He was looking into the distance, and she could not read his expression.

“They were taken before their time then, but it seems they were blessed with a loving marriage.”

He turned to look at her. “Yes, they were. It is a rarity.”

“Have you no hope for such fortune yourself? Surely a man of your position...”

“Has more opportunities?” he finished.

“Yes.”

“Lucy fancies love a required ingredient for matrimony. I do not.”

“A practical approach,” she agreed.

They walked across a bridge and fell into silence once more. Beyond the shrubs and a bed of rose bushes stood a little pavilion flanked by marble statues. On one side was a nude with his hand upon his very stiff, very long cock. The other side was a female nude stretched upon a pedestal, her mouth open, one hand gripping a sheet draped over half her body.

“Madame Follet has a most brazen collection of art,” Deana commented.

“And what say you of her selection?”

She studied the statue of the man. A familiar sensation stirred in her groin. “Stimulating.”

He grinned at her impudence. She stepped up into the pavilion. When she turned and looked at him, his grin had faded, replaced by a serious expression.

“What is it?” she asked, wondering at first if he was troubled by concerns for his sister.

He sauntered to where she was. She saw then a ravenous look in his eyes, and her body responded immediately, her senses leaping to attention.

He tilted her chin up and ran his thumb against her lower lip. Her heartbeat quickened at his touch. She wondered that his ardor had been stirred so easily and that her own was proving every bit as eager.

Chapter Twelve

BUT HIS EYES ALSO held a different look she could not place. His gaze traversed her physiognomy as if he were a scout surveying the terrain, landing eventually upon her mouth. Lowering his head, he took her lips with his. Her guard melted away. Though they lacked complete privacy, she welcomed the kiss. It felt all too pleasant.

He worked her mouth with an almost tender quality, coaxing all sorts of feelings to stir inside of her, including that familiar longing in her abdomen. She detected the scent of his shaving cream mixed with the coffee he drank, and idly realized that there was little about Lord Rockwell that did not appeal to her. She would have thought herself quite expended after the activities of last night, but she wanted him again.

“Shall—we—return—to—the—house?” she asked in between his kisses.

“Why?” he murmured against her lips.

For privacy, of course
. Instead, she replied, “You have a penchant for public displays, my lord.”

His kisses became more adamant, more hungry. He held her head in place with one hand while he took whole mouthfuls of her. Instinctively she put a hand upon his forearm, though he had yet to be exceedingly rough with her. Desire bloomed below her waist. He had taken her last night. Would he go so far as to do that in the gardens?

As if in answer to her question, he abruptly swept her off her feet and laid her across the marble bench. He continued to kiss her, his tongue darting into her mouth only ever so often, teasing her with the possibilities. She grew warm quickly, and not just from the heat of his body over hers. The simple weight of him upon her was enthralling. She was not completely at ease with where they were, but she had learned from her experience yesterday not to protest too much. And in truth her mind was being superseded by the wishes of her body.

The bench was cold and hard, but another discomfort, one that could only be satiated by his lordship, proved more urgent. With every kiss upon her neck, her collar, the tops of her breasts, the yearning grew. She arched her back, allowing him greater access to her neck. His hand was upon one breast, pulling down her décolletage until he could access the nipple, which he sucked and fondled with his tongue. Arrows of desire shot from her bosom to her cunnie, and she could feel the moisture gathering between her legs.

This was hardly fair.
If she were to be publicly exposed in such a manner, the least he could do was to join her. She reached for the buttons of his pants.

“Not yet,” he mumbled as he placed her hands back at her sides.

After easing himself off of her, he pushed her skirts above her knees and spread them apart. Standing between her legs, he appraised her wanton position. She watched curiously as he lowered himself onto a knee. He kissed the inside of a thigh. She shivered at the delicate caress. His kisses trailed upwards to her cunnie. No man had ever had his face so close to that most intimate part of her body. What did he intend? His head was beneath her skirts.

“
Bloody damnation,”
she swore when his tongue flicked at her clitoris.

Her body jumped at the trespass, but he held her hips firmly in place.

“I cannot submit to this,” she protested, trying to sit up. This was embarrassing and wanton beyond words.

“You will,” he said from beneath her skirts.

She took a deep breath, squeezing her eyes shut when he licked her once more. Still unaccustomed to the touch, she attempted to squirm from his grasp.

“Relax and enjoy,” he encouraged.

Reluctantly, she tried to settle down. He rubbed his tongue against her flesh.

“Ahhh!” she cried, jerking.

It was a delicious sensation but still too foreign a concept.

“Hold still,” he commanded.

“I can’t.”

Having a cock between her legs fit a natural order. Having his head there was surely blasphemous? But then, what at Chateau Follet was not improper?

He looked up from under the skirts at her. “Are you defying me, Miss Herwood?”

She groaned, sensing defeat, but made a last attempt to defend herself. “The body has impulses, my lord, not easily controlled.”

“Try harder.”

With a sigh, she lay back, but he slapped the inside of her thigh with his hand, causing her to sit back up.

“What was that for?” she demanded.

“For protesting. Now, you will submit and, more importantly, you will spend.”

Impossible
, she replied silently, but she lay back again. When he nuzzled her with his nose, it took all of her not to recoil. How could he do such a thing? It was wet down there, with a distinctive smell. And she had no idea how it
looked
.

He fondled her nub with his tongue. It was slick, and the sensation differed from his fingers. Moaning, she dug her nails into her palm. What if she did not spend? Would she be punished? Would she need to pretend to spend?

“Oh!” she exclaimed when his tongue found a particularly sensitive spot.

He worked the area with surprising effect. His tongue was proving rather pleasurable. She concentrated on the sensations, pushing away thoughts of
how
it was happening. His touch became more forceful. Her resistance began to fade as he stoked her lust. She writhed upon the rigid bench but did not attempt to escape. Her legs, bent and exposed, felt awkward. She knew not what to do with them as the pressure in her cunnie built.

“My God,” she breathed when he sucked on her clitoris and tugged it gently with his teeth.

She was going to spend. She should never have doubted him. He quickened his pace in response to her ascent. Tension, jarring and magnificent, mounted and spread from her cunnie into her abdomen and down through her legs. She almost feared the impending climax, wanting and resisting what was to come. He kept a firm grip on her hips and held in her place when at last the unraveling of her desire crashed through her body. Her legs flayed of their own accord, bumping against him, as the most glorious shivers overcame her.

Her cry sent the birds scattering from the tree tops. She felt as if she had been catapulted into the skies. When she sank back down from the heavens, her limbs a little weakened by the spasms, she found Lord Rockwell upon his feet, staring down at her. The area about his mouth and even his chin glistened from her moisture.

“Well done, Miss Herwood,” he said.

She flushed. “I think the praise ought to be placed with your lordship.”

He returned her smile and passed her his handkerchief. She applied it to his face first, admiring the contours of his lips as she wiped around it. Despite the wickedness of what he had just done, she now found his efforts endearing. Just as she had finished cleansing his face, she realized he was staring at her with that unnamed intensity. She stared back, locked in his gaze. For several beats, the world consisted of only him and the beating of her heart.

As if startled, he put an end to the moment. “My turn.”

He took the handkerchief from her and gently wiped the moisture that had dripped down her derriere. He then offered her a hand up. Only then did she realize how relieved she was not to be lying against the marble. Just as her skirts fell back down, they heard the sound of footsteps.

“Lady Isabella has arisen, my lord,” a maid told him.

“I shall speak with her now,” he replied, clearly expecting the information.

Deana willed herself not to be jealous.

He turned back to her. “Shall I see you to the library? Madame Follet has an extensive collection of books and magazines.”

“Are they as stimulating as her art?”

“I leave that to your own determination,” he replied with a grin.

“I should like to enjoy the garden more.”

“Very well. I will seek you in an hour’s time.”

She watched as he took his leave, wondering what he had to confer with Lady Isabella about. It was none of her business, of course, and she had no intention of inquiring. The problem for her was that her attraction to and affection for Lord Rockwell were growing. It was a most troubling development.

* * * * *

“Ohhhh,” Isabella groaned as she held her head in her hands. She turned to the maid and snapped, “Close that curtain a bit. It is far too bright in here.”

Halsten handed Isabella a cup of black coffee and pulled a chair alongside her bed where she lay propped against a mountain of pillows. “You should refrain from drinking, my dear.”

She glared at him, but as he remained unruffled, she turned her anger upon the maid. “Stop scurrying about! Your motions have a dizzying effect upon me!”

“Her ladyship will be in bed a while yet,” he informed the chambermaid. “You may return in half an hour.”

Looking relieved, the maid curtsied and left.

“Drink the coffee,” he directed Isabella.

She stared into the cup. “Will it cure my headache?”

“No, but it will help.”

She took small sips.

“Have you reconsidered your stay here?”

“I am capable of caring for myself,” she retorted.

“Your current condition begs to differ.”

“I have no intention of consuming the same quantity of wine, if it pleases you.”

“I shall rest easy when you are home safe with your father.”

Her petulance faded and she looked at him with more appreciation. “Are you truly concerned with my welfare?”

“Yes, especially as you have shown yourself to be careless and irresponsible.”

She made an aggravated sound.

“I reiterate my warnings of last night: Lord Devon is not suitable company and the Chateau Follet no place for a lady.”

“Are you not being hypocritical, Halsten? Do you consider yourself suitable company?”

“I would not have brought you here.”

“And Miss Sherwood? Is she no lady? Is that why you have no qualms with her?”

He felt unexpectedly angry. “Leave her be. She is not the subject of our discussion.”

“Then why have you not counseled her to leave Chateau Follet?”

His conscience stirred uncomfortably. That the accusation of hypocrisy should come from an immature source made it no less true.

“Have you your honor still?”

Her eyes doubled in size at his boldfaced question.

“It is none of your affair,” she fumed.

“I pray you did not surrender your maidenhead to Lord Devon. It is far too precious for that idiot.”

“I have not! My honor is quite intact.”

“But you were planning to gift it to Devon.”

She flushed, and were it not for the situation, he would have found her blush heightened her loveliness, even in her disagreeable state and her hair mussed from sleep.

“Perhaps,” she mumbled, then perked up. “Would you rather I present it to you, Halsten?”