The Virgin's Auction (29 page)

“Nash?” Then she recognised the name and her heart plummeted. “He was there? He saw me?”

“He was and he did.” He settled her back on the pillow and leaned back on one elbow so he could look at her face, his own expression openly adoring. “I threw him off the scent a little by saying I bought that tempting chit at auction because she reminded me so of my sister’s friend Miss Spencer,” he laid a line of nipping kisses along her collarbone, “my lust for whom I could not satisfy by ravishing her.” His hand slid towards the opening at the neck of her nightgown but she captured it, not to be so easily distracted from her anxiety.

“Did he believe you? What of the other men who were there that night? Do you know them, too? What if I meet them?”

“I shall continue to spread the same tale in those circles,” he said gravely, humouring her, “and even if some think it is a lie, the doubt should suffice. It will give the respectable world a comfortable fiction to which they may cling.” He lowered his nose to brush it against hers, his eyes inches away from her own. “We may be whispered about. But frankly darling, I don’t care. If I get you for the rest of my life, O warrior woman, to dazzle and confuse and kick my enemies into submission, what need I fear from a few gossips?”

“A warrior?” she questioned, not understanding the reference.

His fingers went back to the neck of her nightgown, deftly unthreading the ribbons to widen it further while she was distracted. “Truly, you have been so many different women in the little time I have known you, I am hard-pressed to say what single sort of woman you really are.” He tugged the fabric to one side and affectionately contemplated the nipple he revealed. “But one thing is certain: you must be a warrior, for you fight me at every turn. The one time I thought I had your surrender I now suspect you were waging a fierce battle. Even though I didn’t have the wit to comprehend it then. Warrior I shall call you, and know myself to be fully correct.”

She gaped in the darkness, surprised by this description. She had never thought to see herself that way. Rather, in her own mind she was a mouse, who hid away from conflict with such as Father, afraid of the pain that confrontation ine
vitably brought. Or a moth with its camouflage, trying always to match her background, fit in as best she could guess, to avoid attack.

She was stronger and more certain with him than she had ever been before. But could she improve his life, or would she damage it?

“Are you certain you are willing to risk the scandal of marrying me? I do not think I could bear to do you serious harm. It would pain me to see you hurt.”

He lowered his head to her bare breast and nuzzled it, murmuring: “I will drink your scandal broth to the dregs. Living without you would be greater pain by far. Given you do actually love me,” he lifted his head and raised her eyebrows at her, and she nodded,
letting her heart be in her eyes, “Then I refuse to countenance anything but marriage. Your fate is sealed.”

“Very well,” she said meekly.

“What? That’s it? No protest?”

“I think you know best.”

“You should cultivate this spirit of docility.” He nodded in approval, his eyes twinkling at her. “It is most becoming.”

“It is best not to grow used to it,” she responded judiciously.

“Yes, dear.” He was resigned.

“And you will not . . .” she hesitated. “. . . when we are married you will not try to control me?
As if I were your possession?”

“You mean as I control my little sister, my ward?” he said with a snort. “You have seen how I rule over her with a rod of iron.”

She thought of his kindness to Stephanie, his indulgence of her whims. How Stephanie was allowed to run a little wild in company, without check or interference.

“In truth I think she could benefit from a little
more
control,’ she said slowly.

“I trust to her good heart.
And also to her wealth. People will forgive much of those who have money. I would not see her joyful spirit quashed. Not for the world.”

She hesitated, looking away from him. She did not want to tell him this, to introduce unhappy memories when she felt so joyful. But she did want him to understand her, why she was as she was. “My father would say I was his, to do with as he liked. That a woman belonged to a man, first father then husband. He said he was only doing me a kindness to train me while I was young so my husband need not.”

He pressed his lips together in shared sympathy, his eyes full of sorrow. “If I am to teach you, then I expect you also to teach me. And to learn only the lessons you wish to learn. I am not your master. I have many servants, but I will have only one wife. If God is willing we will have many children and we shall teach them–”

“Gently.
We will teach them gently.”

“Yes, gently and together.”

That healed some of it, somehow. To know she was finished with that chapter of her life, that she could write something new and better on the pages to come.

A thought suddenly occurred to her. “James?”

“Yes?”

“Are you
drunk
?”

He chuckled sheepishly.
“Probably. I confess I do not hold my drink well. And I felt very grim after we spoke, so I . . . a couple of glasses . . .”

“Are you always like this when you drink?”

He buried his face between her breasts so his next words were muffled. “I am
amorous
when I’m drunk. I try for the sake of my virtue to keep out of my cups when in mixed company. Else I will be trying to find my way under some willing woman’s skirts.” As he spoke he suited action to words, scooping her off the outside of the bedcovers and pulling him under into the nest of warmth at his side, contriving it so the hem of her nightgown rode up under her arms.

She stretched languorously against the hard, naked length of him, feeling the planes and hollows against her yielding softness.

“So, say you were drunk –”

“Amorous.”

“Say you were amorous, and had located a willing woman. Then you would . . .?”

“Raise her skirt, as I said. Let her know of my interest in no uncertain terms.” He pressed his massive erection against her, and she parted her legs to allow it to shift and nestle between them. She sighed with satisfaction at the sensation of him against her there, like a hot iron bar.

“Now if you were to rule me with
this
iron rod . . .” she said, sliding back and forth on the length of it, her feminine flesh wet and slippery against him. He shuddered.

“Hush, wench,” he said, his voice thickened. “Then I would ensure both her pleasure and her readiness.”

“Both at once? So efficient.”

“They do lend themselves to cooperation,” he said modestly. “For when one is secured, the other is the natural consequence.”

“I’m not sure I follow. You may have to demonstrate the concept.”

“It is much like this. Pay attention.”

He slid down on the bed, so he was half-hidden beneath the covers. She squeaked and instinctively tried to escape when he took firm hold of her hips, tilting them to the angle he wanted and placing himself between her thighs. “Here now. Enough of that twitching. You must adopt a sober mien when I am trying to teach you something. Now, with my lips like this . . . and my tongue just so . . . round and round . . . You see how it is? . . . I cannot imagine you can listen to me with all that gasping and moaning going on. Stop it at once . . . Then if I do this with my fingers as my tongue is doing this . . . mmmm. No, you mustn’t scream. Someone will come.”                

“Good God, James. That
must
be . . . Ah! . . . a sin.”

“It is all in the name of efficiency. Only imagine how much time I would have to spend at sexual congress if I did not have such techniques to hand.
Days. Weeks, even. Whereas now, only witness: both pleasure and readiness. All here seems to be in order. Which allows me to swiftly, efficiently, do this –” He glided back up the bed and in the same motion penetrated her in one slick thrust, head thrown back and shoulder muscles bunched. There he paused and she felt the light tremors shake his body, heard his muffled groan. She smiled in sultry satisfaction to have silenced his lecture.

“Is something wrong?” she asked in an innocently enquiring tone.

“No, not at all. Quite entirely . . . Ah! . . . satisfactory. Heavens, love! Don’t move or it’s all over.”

“Isn’t that more efficient?” she asked, enjoying him.

“Damn efficiency. I just want to do this,” he moved with agonising slowness, a delicate withdrawal then thrust then withdrawal, “for the next eon or two. Be a lamb and stop trying to distract me.”

“I distract you?
Rich indeed!”

“Shush. Oh God, that’s torn it. Ah well, slower next time.” And he changed to an urgent, demanding rhythm that drove her up the bed and onto the pillows. She made joyous noises and urged him on with every stroke, pulling him home to her.

When he crossed the threshold of ecstasy she flew too, extraordinarily aroused by his passion, the pounding of his big male body driving into her.

Half underneath him, sheltered by his strong arms, she
panted in concert with him, a grin on her face in the darkness. “I may indeed be very bad for you,” she said with all complacency.

“How is that, little love?”

“I may drive you to drink; if that is the consequence.”

“Luckily I suspect the result will be much the same regardless of the wine.”

“That relieves my mind.”

“Speaking of children, I think we ought to get you to
an altar post haste. For if I cannot keep my hands off you, and you will insist on creeping into my bed, we are likely to have a result that will set tongues wagging.” She felt such a thrill of delight, to translate his words into a baby in their arms. A child that was made of both of them, loved by both of them.

“A special license, do you mean?” she said shyly, willing to have him make the choice.

“I think we can wait perhaps three weeks to have the banns read. But no more than that.”

They were married on the Monday three weeks later, in a small, intimate ceremony to which only a few select friends and relatives were invited, almost all on the groom’s side rather than the bride’s. However the celebratory ball that followed was very well attended, society eager to see the beautiful woman who had snared one of the best prizes on the marriage mart.

She had done it with a scandalous public auction of her own virtue, whispered the more vulgar of tattling tongues.

But naturally no decent person could believe such a thing when looking at the bride, who was all modesty, blushes and downcast eyes. A true love match: Mr Carstairs had admired Miss Spencer, the friend of his sister, for years, but waited very properly until she was old enough to be sure of her own mind. So romantic.

In general she was much approved.
A likeable, genteel sort of girl. And when she very properly presented her adoring husband with an heir precisely nine months after the marriage, it was seen as a satisfactory conclusion by every interested party.