The Making of a Gentleman (16 page)

Unable to resist, he touched his lips to her neck, letting his tongue trace her skin until he was right below her ear. She was trembling now and holding onto him, and he knew he was having as much an effect on her as she on him. And still he wanted more. What would her reaction be if he kissed her ear?

He did so, and she jolted then seemed to melt into him.

Now he slid a hand over her shoulder until it reached the smooth material of her dress. He wanted to touch what was beneath that—and he was not afraid to break The Rules this time.

“You never told me,” he whispered in her ear, an action that had the effect of making her flesh rise like small pebbles. “What is this part called?”

His hand lowered and slid over the soft flesh of her chest. It was rounder and firmer than he had expected, and now he could hear her breath coming fast. And yet when he looked into her face, he saw she was red and obviously embarrassed. “Breast,” she said, her voice choked.

“I like how they feel,” he said, cupping both and testing the weight in his hands.

“Yes, well…” She tried to step away, but he pulled her close again.

“Do you want me to stop?” He did not know if he could stop, but he knew he must if that was what she wanted. He would never hurt another person or do something against their will. He had been the victim of the unwanted too many times.

“You should stop,” she said in a tone he had heard many times before.

“The Rules,” he said, knowing what she would say next.

“Yes, we are breaking them. Again.” Then to his surprise, she stepped closer, put her hand on his chest. “But I don’t care. I don’t want you to stop.”

She stood on tiptoe to kiss him, and while he enjoyed the feel of her lips on his, she must have loosened his neck cloth, because he could suddenly breathe again. He had forgotten how good it felt to be free, and immediately he pulled off the shoes, tossing them into the garden beyond. She laughed and he tried to strip off the coat. It took him a moment, because it was tightly fitted, but when she tugged with him, he removed it, as well.

Next were the upper buttons on his shirt, and then he decided he might as well do away with the shirt all together. He tore it over his head until he stood before her, in the cool night air, in only his breeches.

“Oh, my,” she said, and her eyes were wide and round. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen a man without his shirt before. It’s…”

She didn’t finish, and he did not care. She said too many words as it was. He preferred her actions, and now she reached out and traced a path from his throat to the center of his chest with one long white finger. His skin heated wherever she touched. He looked down, expecting to see she had burned the flesh, but it was unharmed. She moved closer, flattening her palms against him.

“You’re so hard. Like steel,” she murmured. Now her hand cupped his upper arm. “And you’re strong.” Her touch tickled him, aroused him, made him want more.

Made him want to touch her in the same way. He opened his mouth to tell her what he wanted and then discarded the words. Words were his enemy with her. Words made her think too much about Rules. Actions were better.

He wanted the dress she wore off, so he could touch—what had she called them?—ah, yes, so he could touch her breasts, see them in the shadowed moonlight. He did not know how to remove the dress, so he tugged gently on it until the swell of the bare flesh he sought appeared.

The material was too tight to slide down any farther, so he touched that swell with his fingers then bent to touch it with his lips. “I want to kiss you.” He touched the fullest part of her. “Here.”

“Oh, I—”

He felt something hard in the midst of the softness, something small peak under his touch, and he rubbed it with two fingers. It was the right thing to do, because she moaned and pressed closer to him. Then she reached back, awkwardly, and a moment later, the material was loose enough to slide to her waist.

Armand reached out to touch her flesh and then frowned. She wore more clothing underneath the dress—and how he would ever remove it, he did not know. He glanced up into her face and saw she was smiling. “They are called stays.” She turned her back to him, and glanced over her shoulder. “They lace in the back.”

He could see now how the stays had been tied on. The laces were small and tight, and he would have preferred to rip them off, but he settled for fumbling to loosen them. To his surprise, they loosened easily and fell away.

She turned back to him, and there was still more clothing between him and those breasts. But it was less than before, and this layer was almost sheer. He could see the roundness of her breasts. They were as pale as her shoulders except for a dark circle in the middle.

“This is called a shift—chemise in French.”

It was flimsy and loose, and he could see it would not be difficult to remove. He put one hand at the top and tugged it down, slowly. As he watched, the center of her breasts peaked and grew hard under the material. He reached out, touched that hard little pebble. “What is this?”

Even her neck was red now, but she answered him. “Nipple. I-I’m cold.”

He looked up at her. “I will warm you.” But not before he tore that material away. He needed to see her flesh, to see what he had been dreaming about. He gave the chemise a last tug, baring her to the waist.

She was more beautiful than he could have ever dreamed. Her waist was small and slim and her breasts round and heavy. He could not resist cupping them again, running his thumb over that hard pebble. The nipple. She moaned when he did so and arched her back slightly. That was something he had not expected, and it shot heat through him, making him even harder.

But as much as he wanted to do something with that hardness, he was not through exploring. He wanted to taste her, and he leaned forward, putting his mouth at the swell of her breast. Her reaction was violent—her hands clutched at him, and she began to tremble. He darted a tongue out, tracing that cool flesh, noting how it seemed to warm as he touched it. Finally his tongue reached her nipple. He took it in his mouth, and she bucked against him as he teased it with his tongue. His hand rose up to touch the other, flicking it lightly with his fingers.

On a gasp, she said his name. Her fingers dug into the skin of his back, and though her nails raked into him, he liked the feeling. He liked that he was the one causing this reaction. Reluctantly, he lifted his mouth from her breast and moved below, to her stomach. The material was in the way again, but he tugged it to her hips, so he could explore further with his tongue.

Her skin tasted unlike anything he had ever known. It was sweet and slightly salty, and it tasted as he would have imagined she would taste—beautiful.

She was almost bare, and he needed to see all of her now. With one quick movement, he pushed the dress and chemise to the ground, revealing her body to him. Her hips were round and pale, and between her legs was a vee covered with the same yellow hair as that on her head. He wanted to explore that vee, but she was trembling, and he pulled her close to warm her.

He kissed her mouth again, feeling her bare flesh against his own. What would it be like to take off his breeches and stand naked beside her? But that would have to wait. She was still trembling, and he could see now it was not from cold. She was afraid.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he said, kissing her cheeks and her eyelids, allowing his hands to roam over those wonderful breasts and then down to her hips. How could she be so soft? So full? So warm?

“I know. It’s only…” She swallowed. “I have never done this before. I’ve never been naked in front of a man before.”

He had never considered that she had, but the idea of her sharing this with anyone else, revealing herself to anyone else, made him angry. He liked knowing he alone had seen her this way. That must be the marriage idea again.

“I have never done this before either,” he said. “Would you be less scared if I was naked too?”

“No!” Her voice held a note of panic. “I mean, I understand the logic behind you saying that, but I think I feel more comfortable with you dressed—half-dressed—for the moment.”

“Come here.” He wanted her beneath him, and he led her to one of the benches around the edges of the gazebo. There were pillows scattered over them, making them soft and perfect for reclining. He had slept here often, enjoying the freedom of the open space and the open sky above him. He felt at ease here, comfortable. He wanted her to feel the same.

He eased her down onto the pillows on the bench and lowered himself over her. The skin on his chest brushed against her bare skin, causing a sensation he had never encountered before. It was not pain, but it was pleasure so acute that it was like pain.

He sank into her and the feel of her beneath him, her scent—the small noises she made when he began to kiss her and touch her—made the rest of the world, the rest of his life, fade away. When he was with her, his memories of prison faded away. The small man and his giant son retreated to the back of his mind. There was nothing before her. There was nothing but now, and he preferred it that way.

He kissed her lips, opening her so he could delve inside and taste her. She met him, her passion rising even as his did. Her hands slid along his back, pulling him closer, her nails urging him to kiss more deeply, press fully against her.

He moved to her neck, tasting it, tracing a path to her breasts, her belly, that vee he had been so interested in. As he drew close, she moaned, and when his hands brushed the yellow curls, she jumped and sat forward.

“What are you doing?” Her voice was raspy and breathless, almost as his had been when he had first begun to speak again.

“Exploring.” He ran his fingers against her again, and she jumped even higher. “What is this part called?”

“My lord, I don’t think we should…”

“Lie back down,” he said, easing her back. Maybe this was one part he did not need named. “Let me touch you.”

“My lord—”

“Armand.” He rubbed his fingers over her again, and she jumped. But her reaction was less violent this time, and when he repeated the action, she rose to meet him slightly. “Am I breaking another Rule?”

“I—mmm—I don’t know. I, oh dear.”

He parted her legs, saw the flower between them.

“I don’t know the rules for this,” she whispered.

Armand smiled. No Rules. Perfect.

He ran his hands over her again, and this time she arched her back, her hips rising to meet his touch. His finger eased inside her, and he was astonished by how warm and wet she was. Yes, this was where he wanted to be. He could feel himself throbbing, needing to be inside that warm place.

His instinct was to strip off his breeches and plunge himself into her, but he knew that would scare her. Instead, he continued to rub her as he bent over her again and kissed her lips. He had no sense of time with her. Every moment ran together into what seemed an eternity, and then she was clutching at him, arching into him, and moaning his name.

He slid a hand down to unfasten his breeches, feeling relief when their tightness was gone. He stripped them off, aware she was watching, but her gaze was more curious than afraid now. And then before she could think too much, before she could begin to say more words, he was above her again, kissing her again, sliding his fingers into her.

And then he was inside her. He moved gently and slowly, but it was not easy. Every primitive need in him cried out for release. It would come, he knew, if he plunged into her. But he could feel how tight she was, how she stiffened when he moved too quickly. And so he moved slowly. It was painful how slowly he moved, but he was rewarded by her response. Gradually, she opened for him, her body taking his inside until he was fully encased.

The sensation was overwhelming. He had never felt anything like it, and he knew this was only the beginning. Her hips were rising to meet his in a primitive dance both of their bodies knew, even if their minds did not. He moved with her, paying close attention to when her pleasure seemed the greatest. He wanted her to feel the pleasure he felt.

“Armand!” she cried out, and her hips seemed to race against his.

“Slow,” he groaned. If she continued to move so quickly, he would not be able to hold himself back. But she ignored him, moving faster, her body bringing his to the edge of pleasure, the height of sensation.

And then she bit off a scream, and he felt her tighten around him. That was his undoing. He fell into her, fell into the sensations, allowed himself to tumble into that darkness.

For once, he did not care if he ever saw the light again.

Felicity could not believe what had just happened. She did not know her body could feel this way, that she could abandon all sense of propriety, all sense of herself, and give herself so freely. She did not know how else to describe what had happened. She had forgotten—perhaps discarded—all the rules of behavior and allowed herself just to act, to feel. The comte—Armand—had that effect on her.

And now he was lying on top of her, his weight heavy and satisfying, and she never wanted him to move away. She should have been worried. They were outside, naked, and the duc and duchesse were liable to be looking for them. How much time had passed? The Valères were going to be furious. If she looked as debauched as she felt, they would know exactly what had transpired out here tonight.

Armand nuzzled her neck, which sent tiny shivers through her. How could she still feel such pleasure? Surely he had drained every last ounce she had to give. Oh, she knew she should be worried about the Valères and about all the rules she had broken. About the consequences—and there could, would be, devastating consequences. But she could not worry about consequences. All she could do was arch her neck, giving Armand better access.

He rose up, hovered over her, his eyes searching hers. He spoke without words, letting her know the experience had been as profound for him as it had been for her.

Felicity smiled, ran her fingers over his cheek, touched his lips. He kissed her fingers, one by one, and then their mouths met again.

They could spend the entire night like this, she knew. And as much as she would have enjoyed that, she knew it was not possible. They would be discovered sooner or later if they lingered.

“Armand—”

He kissed her again, cutting her off.

“No words. Too many words.”

Gently, she leaned back, broke the kiss. “I know, but words are necessary now. We can’t stay like this.”

“I like you better without words,” he said, leaning forward to kiss her again.

“Yes, I like that, too, but your brother and the duchesse will have many words for us if they find us like this. We must get dressed and go inside.”

He pushed back, ran a hand through his disordered hair. “Rules again.”

Hoping he would not fight this next “rule,” she sat and cleared her throat. “Perhaps it might be best if we did not mention what happened here tonight. We shouldn’t tell anyone.”

He frowned at her. “But we are married now.”

Oh, dear. Was that what he thought? “Not exactly. There’s actually a ceremony, a ritual, before marriage. We should be married before… doing what we just did, but without the ceremony, we’re not.”

“Then we will marry. Now.” He leaned close, smiled mischievously. “I want to do this again.”

She did, too, but she did not think it best to say so at the moment. Instead, she sifted through their discarded garments and began dressing. It was not an easy feat to accomplish on her own, and she asked Armand for help at several turns. When she was finally dressed again, she looked down and sighed. Her gown was wrinkled, her hair hung down about her shoulders, and she could not find one slipper. Armand had donned his breeches and shirt and that was all. He’d left the shoes, stockings, and tailcoat in a heap on the gazebo floor. She supposed that was about all he thought they were good for.

Now that she was dressed again, the hazy pleasure of the moment had worn off, and she had a flash of Charles’s face in her mind. She knew now that no matter what the penalty, she could never go through with a marriage to him. She would find a way to get him the twenty-five pounds. But if she could not…

She did not like to think what that decision entailed for her future. If she were dismissed from this position, where would she go? If the duchesse blamed her for Armand’s actions at the musicale, or if the family suspected what had occurred in the garden tonight, they would not give her a letter of recommendation. It was possible she would be dismissed from this position within the day. And then what? She could give Charles her parting wages, but how would she live? Where would she go?

And if her parting wages were not enough, Charles could cause trouble. Some employers might overlook the gossip resulting from Armand carrying her off tonight. She knew there were many on the fringes of Society who might view the incident and her employment with the wealthy, powerful Valère family as giving her a certain level of cachet. But if Charles made their betrothal known, it would ruin even her chances with the fringes of Society. A governess swept off her feet by a comte was one thing. A woman betrothed to a military hero, which was how Charles would make himself appear, who betrayed the poor man with a comte, was something else entirely. She would be left without options, and how long would she survive on the streets before she was raped or murdered?

She did not like to think Armand would allow that, but what did he know of Society’s rules and their consequences? And it was not as though he loved her. What if this passion for her was fleeting? She sighed. She supposed she would have to go back to her aunt’s. There she would not only be a burden but a ruined woman, forever scorned by her upstanding neighbors. And what if Charles followed her there, demanded more money? Would her aunt demand she do her duty and marry him?

Armand put his hand on her shoulder, and she turned and smiled at him, not wanting him to see her worry. “I’m sure your brother and sister-in-law are searching for us. We should go in before they find us.” She intended to hide for as long as possible.

He nodded, and she started back for the town house. He was right behind her. “I will tell Julien we marry tonight.”

She sighed. “Armand, that’s impossible. We need a license and a minister.” And she would never consent. She was legally betrothed to another man. Would Armand want her when he realized she had kept that from him? If she tried to explain, would he even understand?

She felt heavy, thinking of the ramifications of what she had done tonight. Was the lovemaking they had shared worth the cost?

She glanced back at Armand, and he gave her a warm—a very warm—look. Yes, she decided, it was worth it. When they were close to the house, Armand took her arm. “We will marry as soon as possible.”

She gave him a wan smile and wished that could be true.

“And then we will go to the country.”

Now she frowned. “The country? Why?”

“There is a house there, in Southampton. That is where I want to live. I don’t care for the city.”

Felicity smiled. She could easily picture the comte living happily on an estate in Southampton. He would love the open space and the fresh air. And she knew he enjoyed working the soil, growing all sorts of flowers and plants. The country was the perfect place for him.

“We’re in agreement on that point,” she said. “I don’t like the city either. But Armand, I can’t—”

He put a finger over her lips. “We will have a dog or two or maybe more. And we can…” He gestured to the gazebo. “What is that called? What we did?”

She swallowed and felt her skin heat.

He put his hand on her cheek. “Why does your face turn red?”

“Because I’m embarrassed.”

He frowned at her. “That is like shame?”

She nodded. “A little.”

He stepped back, his eyes flashing. “I shame you?”

“No.” She laid a hand on his arm. “No, but your question makes me uncomfortable. It’s not something people discuss. The rules again.”

He nodded, and she thought he must surely grow tired of all of her rules. “But to answer your question, it’s called, well, I suppose we could call it making love.”

“Love? That is what my mother says to me.”

“Hmm. Well, that is a different sort of love. More physical.”

“I see.”

But Felicity wondered if he did see. Surely he had been loved and cherished as a child, but what did all of those years without love, without any human contact, do to one’s capacity to receive and give love? Had she managed to fall in love with a man utterly incapable of loving her back? A man who did not even understand what the word meant? Perhaps all he knew was lust—primitive and instinctual. Was that all they had shared?

And then he leaned forward, cupped a hand to her cheek, and gave her such a look of tenderness she could not help but think he must have some understanding of love. He wasn’t looking at her with lust now. There was a gentleness that made her heart clench, made her want to wrap her arms around him and kiss him until they were both breathless again.

He must have sensed her mood, because he ushered her toward the door to the town house—the same back door they had used the first night he had led her to the gardens. She could go to her room using this path without anyone seeing her. At least he had understood there was a need for discretion. She pulled open the door then noticed he did not follow.

“Aren’t you coming inside?”

“Later,” he said, his eyes tracking over the dark garden. Felicity followed his gaze.

“You think they’re still out here somewhere? The two men who dug up the garden and threw the brick?”

He didn’t answer, but she could see the way his shoulders tensed.

She laid a hand on his arm. “Your brother hired men to watch the house. You don’t need to patrol all night.”

“They will never give up. Never go away.”

“Not until they have the Treasure of the Sixteen.”

He gave her a sharp look and his lips thinned. His eyes grew haunted, and she could see her words had caused something to flicker in his mind. A memory? She should not push him, not after the magical time they had spent together tonight. She didn’t want to ruin it.

And yet, would he ever be whole and complete if he did not face some of the demons that plagued him? Perhaps if they faced them together, it would be easier for him.

“What is the Treasure of the Sixteen, Armand?”

He began to turn away, and now she was the one who pulled him back.

“I know you don’t like to think of it, of that time, but if you could tell us what this treasure is, then maybe we would know how to deal with those men.”

“No.” The word was harsh and simple and brooked no argument. He would not discuss the treasure. Felicity sighed. She had been foolish to think he would talk about it with her, foolish to think that together they could conquer his past. She would most likely be dismissed and out on the streets by tomorrow afternoon anyway. Perhaps it was better if they did not complicate the matter any further.

“Good night, Armand,” she said.

He bowed. “Good night.”

Felicity started up the steps, alone and shaking her head. His dismissal had been so formal, but then what had she expected? She had taught him well.

Her body still burned from his touch, and pleasure still thrummed through her, but had he been affected the same way? And what was she going to do tomorrow when the duchesse sent her away?

Curses but she was a fool!
You had to fall in love with him
, she scolded herself.
You couldn’t just be his tutor.
Well, she was no stranger to the rules of Society and the consequences for breaking those rules. Now she would pay the price.

She slipped into her room and closed the door behind her, feeling lonely and lost—and more in love than she had ever thought possible.

***

Armand walked every inch of the garden and the area around the town house until he was satisfied the small man and his son were not hiding on the property. Felicity had been right. They would not give up until they had the Treasure of the Sixteen. And was he so much the coward he could not allow himself to go back, to remember what the treasure was, why these men sought it?

But the snatches he did remember haunted him. He had no fear for himself—there was nothing they could do to him that hadn’t already been done. He did not fear torture or death. But he feared for his family and for Felicity.

He wished he could have held her all night. Parting from her had been agony. He needed her skin against his, her lips against his. He needed to be inside her again, to feel her wrapped around him. He wanted her more than he could ever recall wanting anything—light, food, water, air, freedom…

He would do anything to protect her.

With that in mind, he marched up to the town house’s front door, opened it, surprising the butler who had been standing in the vestibule, obviously attempting to overhear the discussion taking place in the dining room.

Armand paused, glanced at the closed dining-room doors. “My brother,” he said.

The butler recovered quickly. “In the dining room, my lord.”

With a nod, Armand walked past him, opened the doors, and stepped into the room. His brother, his mother, and his sister-in-law looked up at him. “What happened to you?” His mother was the first to speak. She rose. “Where is your coat, your shoes?”

Armand gestured toward the garden. “I took them off.”

“Where the hell have you been?” Julien rose now, his scowl fierce. “And where is Miss Bennett? Do you know the problems you’ve caused?”

Armand shrugged, pulled out a chair, and sat. He was tired suddenly. “Rules again. I do not care about The Rules.”

“Where is Miss Bennett?” Sarah asked, cutting Julien off before he could speak again. “Is she well?”

“She went to her room. She is fine.”

“I’m going to go see her.” Sarah rose, but his mother waved her back down.

“Let us first hear what Armand has to say. You know that you have caused quite a bit of trouble. You may not care about yourself, but now you have compromised Miss Bennett. This is serious.” Her tone was stern, but it did not have the angry sound that Julien’s did.

Armand nodded. “I want to marry Felicity.”

Julien threw up his hands. “Oh, she’s Felicity now, is she? Just what exactly happened after you left Lady Spencer’s?”

He was tempted to tell them, but Felicity had seemed against it, and she knew The Rules better than he. “I want to marry her.”

His mother actually looked pleased, but Sarah plopped down heavily in a chair and put her face in her hands. “Of course you’ll marry her. What other choice is there?”

Armand ignored her. “But she says there is still a ceremony.”