A Wedding Wager (30 page)

The bedchambers were presumably along this corridor. He slid out into the corridor, closing the door gently behind him, barely breathing as he heard bursts of noise from the salons. Serena’s note had said her bedchamber was at the front of the house. He was to look for a red ribbon around the door handle.

He turned right, because that was in the direction of the street, although it was also taking him towards the
salons. He wondered why Serena was not at the gaming tables tonight. Judging by the noise, they were in full swing. What could be keeping her from her work? It had to be something exceptional. His step quickened with his heartbeat as he moved down the corridor, keeping close to the wall. The red ribbon was a splash of color against the cream paint of the door. He untied the ribbon and set his hand to the doorknob.

A burst of laughter and the general’s unmistakable voice coming from the landing stopped his hand. He shrank back against the wall, waiting.

“God damn it, Heyward, I swear you have the devil’s own luck,” a somewhat slurred voice declared. The general offered some remark that Sebastian couldn’t hear properly, and the voices faded as the two men went downstairs.

Sebastian waited a moment, then turned the handle and was inside the chamber before anyone could so much as detect his shadow. He turned the key in the lock instantly, and the click sounded unnaturally loud. The room was in semidarkness, the only illumination a candle on the table beside the bed and one on the mantel. He peered into the dimness, and then he saw her as she rose from the window seat, the soft folds of an ivory nightgown drifting around her, her hair long and loose framing her face.

“You came,” Serena said.

“Did you think I would not?” He remained where he was, his back to the door, feeling the tension, the
anticipation, build between them. “Why did you send for me, Serena?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” she responded softly.

“I don’t know. You’ve never done such a thing before. I thought maybe you were in some trouble.”

She stepped across the floor, coming to stand close to him, putting her hands on his shoulders. “No trouble,” she said. “’Tis wickedly reckless, I know, but …” Her shoulders lifted in a little shrug. “I couldn’t help myself. I was filled with longing for you.” She reached a hand to touch his mouth. “Do you mind coming to me here?”

Sebastian considered the question, aware that somehow his answer was important. He could still hear faint sounds from the gaming rooms, where men pawed her and she flirted and played whatever game they wished. He was flooded with a disconcerting sense of unreality. It was as if two quite different worlds had collided. His love for Serena and his loathing for everything about her situation. How could he separate the two?

Her great violet eyes were on his face, glowing in the dim light of the chamber, and he knew the answer … the
right
answer. Slowly, he shook his head. “No … no, I’d come to you at the gates of hell, if you asked me to.” He put his hands at her waist, feeling the warmth of her skin beneath the silk of her gown.

Serena had kept the lights low to conceal the mark on her face. She had hoped it would fade quickly, but there was still a faint shadow on her cheek. Her long-sleeved nightgown was closed at the wrists with little pearl buttons,
finished with lace ruffles that fell over her hands. She was confident that Sebastian would notice nothing amiss, particularly in the even deeper dimness of the bed curtains.

He kissed the corner of her mouth, touched her nose playfully with the tip of his tongue, before moving his mouth to hers, his hands molding the thin ivory silk against her body so that he could feel its contours, the indentation of her waist, the swell of breasts and hips. He cupped her bottom, lifting her slightly off the ground. She put her arms around his neck and pressed her loins against the jut of his penis with sudden urgency. It was as if the afternoon’s passion had merely been an appetizer, one that stimulated appetite rather than sating it. She wanted to become a part of him, every inch of his body imprinted upon her own.

Still holding her off the ground, he stepped to the bed, letting her slide down his body before bending his head to kiss the hollow of her shoulder, to trail his tongue up the side of her neck, tasting the sweet fragrance of her skin, inhaling the heady scent of her hair as he lifted it away from the path of his kisses.

Serena’s head fell back as he kissed the fast-beating pulse in her throat, and she gripped his hips with her own surge of need.
“Now,”
she whispered. “I need you to be a part of me now, love.” Her fingers moved urgently over the fastening of his breeches, and she gave a soft moan of pleasure and satisfaction as his penis sprang forth, pulsing with an urgency to match her own.

Sebastian seized handfuls of her gown, roughly pulling it up to her waist. He gripped her backside again and lifted her against him as she curled her legs around his hips, feeling him slide into her moist and open body. They stood joined, not moving, simply feeling the wonder of this union, the presence of the other as part of themselves.

Serena felt his penis throbbing deep within her, and slowly she tightened her inner muscles around him, heard his sharp intake of breath, saw his eyes open wide. With a soft chuckle of delight, she squeezed him again, feeling her own climax drawing closer even without a single visible movement from either of them. Just the feel of him pulsing inside her was enough, and she reveled in the knowledge that she could bring him to climax with this simple little movement.

“If you do that again, we’ll both be lost,” he whispered, his fingers curling into the soft flesh of her buttocks.

“I know,” she murmured with a mischievous little chuckle, and did it again.

They clung to each other, barely breathing, as the pleasure ripped through them, until the waves of delight finally diminished and with a groan of defeat Sebastian fell forward onto the bed, holding her tightly against him, twisting sideways as he fell so that she did not take his full weight.

They lay intertwined face-to-face amid the tumble of their disordered clothing, waiting for the blood to slow
in their veins, their racing pulses to calm. Sebastian could see the pulse in Serena’s throat, and he watched it as the violent rapidity of its beating finally took on a more normal rhythm. Lazily, he stroked damp strands of blue-black hair away from her cheek and circled the delicate whorls of her ear with the tip of his little finger. She smiled but had no energy for a more active response. His hand moved down to the smooth, silken flare of her hip revealed by her raised skirt and down the length of her thigh, cupping the rounded kneecap, before moving upwards again.

“Don’t,” she begged feebly, reaching down to stop the progress of his hand. “’Tis too soon to do it again.”

He laughed and disentangled his legs from hers, hitching himself onto an elbow. “I thought you had a better understanding of male anatomy, dear girl. It’ll take me at least half an hour before I’m ready again.”

“Oh, you know what I mean,” she protested, half laughing. “You were going to arouse me again, tease me, and I’m too weak.”

He reached around and patted her bottom. “There, there. No more just yet, I promise.”

Serena rolled onto her back, and he was forced to slide his hand out from under her. “There’s wine on the table. Maybe you’d be more comfortable if you undressed properly.” She reached out a hand and stroked his flaccid penis as it lay limp against his thigh. “Poor little mouse.”

“Oh, give it time, and it’ll be as rampant a cock as ever crowed in a barnyard,” he declared, sliding off the
bed. He sat on the edge to pull off his boots, observing conversationally, “Making love in my boots is an unusual occurrence.” He shrugged off his rumpled coat and waistcoat, tossed aside his shirt, unfastened his breeches properly, pushing them with his underdrawers down to his feet, where he kicked them away with a flourish. “That is better. But if you don’t mind, I’d like to even the playing field.” Naked, he bent over her, taking one wrist to unbutton the little pearl studs.

“I’ll do it,” she said hastily. “Why do you not pour a glass of wine?”

A slight frown crossed his countenance, but he let her hand drop to the coverlet. “As you wish, ma’am.”

She had managed to keep the bruised side of her face averted and thought that the dim illumination would conceal the mark from all but the closest scrutiny. Her wrist was still red, though. She had a story to explain it if it became necessary, but it would be better if he didn’t notice. She could probably contrive to use only her good hand without it seeming obvious and keep the other one close to her side.

She pulled the gown over her head, tossing it to the floor, and lay back against the pillows, watching as he bent to throw more logs on the fire. The sounds of the house, more an amorphous buzz than distinct speech, continued to drift down the corridor from the salons. “I wonder what the general would say if he could guess what was going on a few paces from the salons,” she murmured.

Sebastian straightened slowly. “Was it necessary to remind me of where we are?”

“At the gates of hell?” she questioned lightly, trying to make it seem as if her comment had been in jest.

“As good as. How did you manage to avoid the salons this evening?”

“I told him I was unwell.”

“I see. A reasonable excuse.” He lit a taper in the fire and brought it to light the branch of candles on the night table.

“Oh, don’t, please,” Serena said. “I like the shadows for some reason. It makes everything seem like a dream, a wonderful dream from which I don’t have to wake up. If you shine light on it, I will wake up.”

He shook his head in amusement, his momentary irritation banished, and blew out the taper. “What a strange notion, but it shall be as you wish.” He tossed the taper into the fire and poured two glasses of canary wine, bringing them to the bed. He sat on the end beside her and filled his mouth with wine, before leaning in and kissing her. Her mouth opened for him, and the wine flowed between them in a seductive swirl on her tongue.

She laughed. It was the most delicious sensation, liquid and sensual, almost like making love. “Again.”

He took another swig, then kissed her again. “What a novel way of sharing a glass,” Serena declared, licking a drop of vinous moisture from her lips. “Where did you learn to do that?”

“Ah, wouldn’t you like to know?” he teased, taking her own glass away from her. “Lie back. I have another idea.”

Serena obliged, sliding down until she was lying flat. She felt a cold trickle in her navel and gave an involuntary start.

“Be still,” he chided. “You’ll spill it.”

Silent laughter shook her, but she kept as still as she could as he bent over her and lapped the wine from the small cup. His tongue teased her belly, and she squirmed a little under the warm, tickling sensation.

He rested his head on her belly and looked up her body, a finger languidly circling her nipples. He loved her breasts, standing full and firm against the slenderness of her torso. Their fullness had surprised him the first time he had seen her naked. Dressed, she was as tall and slender as a willow; even with décolletage, the rich swell of her breasts was masked by her height, and it was a delightful surprise to discover the lush plenitude beneath.

Serena stretched beneath his traveling gaze, offering her body, taut and straight, for his appraisal, lifting her hips in an enticing little movement that sent a surge of lust to his loins. He moved his head down, his tongue parting the swollen lips of her sex, his teeth grazing the hard little nub of flesh. He slid a hand beneath her again, lifting her a little as her thighs fell apart so that her sex lay open, waiting for his touch. He used his tongue, lapping at her honeyed center, and Serena was lost, her
body already so exquisitely sensitized that the first moist stroke was enough to send her once more into a luxuriously slow tumble from the peaks into the still waters of release.

Sebastian raised his head slowly, savoring the taste of her on his lips and tongue, breathing deep of the lingering scent of her. He stroked up her belly with his tongue, licking the tiny beads of sweat gathered in the deep cleft of her breasts.

She reached down and ran her fingers through his fair hair, smiling at the little curls gathered on the nape of his neck. Cherubic curls, she thought, reflecting with another smile that there was actually very little of the cherub about her lover. “Are you ready for another bout?” she inquired with one of her mischievous chuckles.

“If you are,” he murmured, moving his mouth to hers. She could taste herself on his lips and tongue.

“Always.” She moved her thighs apart to accommodate him, but he took her hips and flipped her onto her belly. “Ah,” she said into the pillow. “A change of scene.”

She heard his chuckle, felt his breath warm on the back of her neck. He reached for a pillow and pushed it beneath her belly, lifting her hips. She drew up her knees a little to make it easier for him and felt him slide within her. The angle was so different it was as if it was the first time they had made love that evening. She pushed back against him, feeling his belly hard against her bottom,
his penis deep inside her, moving rapidly, filling her as his hand beneath her rubbed the erect nub of flesh.

When it was over, he lay heavily along her back, his legs following the line of hers, his feet twining with hers. His breath stirred her hair, his hands covered hers, which were raised above her head, limp and still beside her head. After a long time, Sebastian rolled away from her, turned on his side, and pulled her body into him, drawing her backwards into the curve of his body. And they slept while the house continued its business, heedless of the sleeping lovers, and finally just before dawn closed its doors to the last of the revelers.

Sebastian awoke with a start, almost as if he had heard the sound of the shooting bolts in the great front door in the hall below. He lay for a moment, wondering where he was, but the warm, breathing flesh against his own brought awareness soon enough. He slipped away from her, trying not to disturb her, and slid off the bed, padding to look at the clock on the mantel. It was too dark to see the time, and he stuck a taper into the embers of the dying fire and lit the branch of candles that Serena had wanted unlit. He took the light to the mantel to look at the clock. It told him it was past four in the morning. They still had a little time before the house awoke.