Bound by Bliss (4 page)

And she certainly wasn’t marrying him—not that she thought he’d risk rejection again. One of her refusals was normally enough. And besides, she might have the expectations of a small fortune and one priceless pearl necklace, but from what she understood Temple needed enough funds to purchase a small country if he were ever to free himself from debt. And while he might sometimes give tingles, they were most definitely the most unpleasant of tingles, not at all like…No, she was not thinking about
him
. She would stop her thoughts at the fact that Lord Temple was definitely not the man for her.

It was a pity she hadn’t paid more attention to Lord Paul when she asked him to dance. He was very pleasant and had a wonderful sense of humor. He always managed to make her laugh, at least when she actually bothered to listen to what he had to say. Granted, he was a little young. He might even be a year or so younger than her. But did that really matter? Surely that just meant he was trainable and if she was going to have a husband, having one who knew what she wanted and followed her direction might not be a bad idea. And he didn’t make her tingle at all. She might have many desires to explore those tingles, but she was sure she did not wish to share them with a husband. No, definitely not with a husband. Her emotions might follow those tingles and she definitely didn’t wish that with a husband. Perhaps she would take a lover; with a lover those tingles might just be safe. Or not. But that was a decision for the future. Right now she needed to find a husband, a husband who would be agreeable, but not demanding, a husband she could care for but never lo—

She cut the thought off.

So, Lord Paul?

No, not a bad idea at all.

Slipping away from Lord Temple as the dance ended, trying not to gasp at his final hard pinch upon her behind, she peered about the ballroom looking for Lord Paul. She hoped he hadn’t noticed her lack of interest earlier, but given his intense focus on her bosom she doubted he’d noticed much else.

Bosom. Men did like bosoms. Should she have her gowns lowered? She’d never paid that much attention to her bodices, as they didn’t affect her dancing unless they were much too tight, but surely it wouldn’t hurt to show a little more flesh.

She glanced down at herself. There was only the faintest curve of flesh visible above the deep pink silk, not even a hint of the valley between her breasts. Quickly she glanced about the room and then back down at herself. She was wearing one of the most modest dresses in the whole room—and yet Lady Perse had seen fit to look upon it with contempt. Anger began to rise in her stomach, pushing away the pile of stones.

Why were people always so ready to condemn her? For as long as she could remember it felt like everyone about her had been waiting for her to make mistakes. It wasn’t her fault she’d been born a Danser.

Deep breath in. Deep breath out.

She glanced down at her breasts again. They did rise from her gown a little bit when she did that. Maybe if she found Lord Paul, she would practice breathing. It would be interesting to see if his gaze became even more focused if she let her breasts swell above the lace of her gown—even if only the scantest quarter inch more of flesh was revealed.

Hmmm, what if she pulled the waist down a bit? That might help. If she was going to find a husband she needed all the tools she possessed.

Definitely better. The gown might be only a little lower, but it was definitely beginning to hint at more.

And then she felt it, that tingle along her spine, the sudden tightening of her belly that forced all the rocks out.

Blast.

There was only one thing that caused that sudden shiver, that sudden breathlessness.

He was here.

Already knowing what she’d see, Bliss lifted her face from staring at her bosom and turned to stare into the darker corners of the ballroom.

There he was, a good two inches taller than any of the men surrounding him.

Stephan Andrew James Perth, Earl of Duldon.

He had the strangest look on his face. Why was he staring at her that way, looking almost perplexed? She frequently caught him watching her, but never with quite that expression.

A slow tide of crimson rose up from her toes. He’d been watching her stare at her breasts.

She swallowed and met his glower, ignoring the tightening of those blasted breasts. She didn’t care if he looked disapproving, she didn’t.

They were far enough apart that it should not have been possible for her to meet his gaze, but it caught and held. Her feet shifted on the smooth floor, her fists tightened by her side.

Yes, she’d been staring down her own dress in the middle of a ballroom, but did he have to look so disdainful, so, so…She didn’t even have the words to describe how he made her feel. Why him? Why did it always have to be him?

Her head turned away slightly, but her eyes still held with his. She wanted to look away, but couldn’t. She’d never been able to. From the time she’d been a little girl Duldon had held her attention no matter where she was, what she was doing.

Well, if she couldn’t fight it…She turned back to him and narrowed her eyes, attempting her own look of intimidation. It was best to make it clear now, right from the start, that she didn’t care what he thought, what he wanted.

She was not going to agree to marriage with such a man, not now, not ever.

—

What was Bliss thinking now? Normally he could read her every expression, but as her eyes flashed and stared across the great room at him Duldon found himself at a loss. It had been easier to understand her moments before when she stared down at her bodice. He’d felt himself harden at that small glance, at that small acknowledgment that she understood her own desirability. He’d watched her consider, watched her gaze about the room at the other ladies and then give her dress a little yank. His whole body had felt that yank. He’d been undecided as to whether to cheer her on or drape his coat about her. He was more than eager to see more of her charms, had wondered for years at the mistaken modesty of her apparel, but now the thought of another man seeing the glory that was meant only for him had his lips pursing.

He took a step toward her, keeping his eyes locked on hers. It was time to track down his bride-to-be and have an honest discussion. She’d been avoiding him for far too long and it was time for that to end. It had been one thing when she was still a girl and he’d understood he must wait. It was a far different thing now, now that she was every inch a woman.

The sooner she admitted she was meant for him the better.

He’d been patient over the last years, letting her have the time she needed to mature—and if he was honest he’d wanted his own time, time to explore the demons that sometimes ran through him, time to play and explore all the possibilities of life before settling down with a wife in a much more proper fashion. It was not without sharp regret that he prepared himself to give up his games and adventures, but enough was enough. If Bliss were ready to explore her womanhood she would do it with him, even if the manner of their play might not be all that he desired. He could give up anything for the chance to have Bliss.

Eyes still locked, he began to stride across the room, unmindful of the milling crowd that hindered his progress.

—

Blast. And blast again. She was going to have to become more creative in her swearing if the matter of Duldon and marriage was not quickly resolved. Over the years a number of choice words had been whispered by her brothers, even Swanston had added to her knowledge once when he’d dropped a large account book on his foot, but she’d never thought to use such language herself until now.

Her heart sped in her chest as she watched Duldon approach. Why did he always succeed in making her feel like a chagrined schoolgirl? It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t right. No other man had this effect on her, so why should he?

It hadn’t always been this way. Once she’d felt safe around him, safe and protected. And he’d been steady. Steady had been wonderful in the chaos of life that came with being a Danser.

But that had been years ago. She wasn’t sure what had changed these last years—no, that was not true—she knew exactly what had changed, and why. It just wasn’t something she allowed herself to think about.

He was getting closer.

She wasn’t going to cower before him. She wasn’t.

His steady blue gaze remained firm upon her as he made his way across the room. His high cheekbones appeared chiseled from stone in the shadows of the flickering candlelight. His lips drew taut as a dancing couple blocked his path, but his eyes never left her. She felt as pinned as an insect on a piece of parchment.

She would not cower, she would—she would flee.

Tearing her eyes from his, she turned and ran. Well, she walked very quickly. It was a rather crowded room. Luckily she’d attended many previous balls in the house and knew just where to turn and scamper. The ladies’ retiring room was up those stairs to the left. Duldon would never follow her in there, but he might just stand outside glowering at every woman who passed, and there was no other escape from the small closed room.

If she headed straight down the hall she could sneak out to the gardens through the library. Now that was a plan. Once she was in the gardens he would never find her and then she could circle back in. He couldn’t bother her once she was dancing with someone else. Drat. She should have thought of that a moment ago before she fled. There must have been some gentleman within grabbing distance who would have been happy to dance. Now it was too late.

Hurrying down the hallway, past countless pictures of countless ancestors, she came to the library door. A quick glance over her shoulder. No, he hadn’t made the turn and followed, at least not yet.

She placed her hand on the handle and paused before pushing down. The door squeaked. A sudden memory of its creaking sound came to her. She didn’t know why she remembered, but she did. Blast and drat. Pulling in a deep breath, she pressed down as slowly as she could. A soft whine sounded, but no more. Opening the door only enough to pass through, she slid sideways through it, easing it shut behind.

She released her breath quietly, almost soundlessly, closing her eyes and listening. There was no tap of footsteps in the hall. Perhaps she was safe.

Another breath and then she eased her eyes open, blinking as she adjusted to the dark. The high shelves of the library surrounded her, and across from her—she blinked again. She was not alone.

She was very, very far from alone.

She shut her eyes again. The image burned into her brain. For the briefest of moments she thought she was back in another time, another place—but that had been very, very different from this. Although it too had happened at a soirée.

She slitted her eyes, peered out, tightened them shut again. No, she had not been mistaken.

A woman, face alight with moonlight, gown pushed below her high firm breasts, stood pressed tight against the bookshelves. One of her hands rose, as Bliss watched, to circle a ripe berry of a nipple and then to pinch it hard. Her head fell back, her throat stretched, her mouth opened in a silent moan. Almost without thought Bliss felt her own hand rise to stroke her bodice, her own nipples rose to press against the fabric. What would it feel like to touch oneself like that? She washed herself, of course, but never had she stroked and pinched and plucked. Never seen her nipples stretch and darken. She couldn’t even imagine them that swollen, that wanting, that…

She peeked again.

The woman’s hand moved and Bliss felt as if her own breast were touched, the nipple pulled out and then released, the soft flicker of skin upon skin. Her belly tightened in a way she’d never imagined, a longing growing.

Her eyes squeezed shut. It was all too much to take.

She swallowed, her mouth dry.

Carefully she opened one eye, curious to why the woman was there—and at the same time shocked and breathless. She didn’t understand the rest of the feelings that burned through her body, but…

There was a man there as well. She’d missed him the first time because he was down low, on his knees, and he was…

Bliss slammed her eyes shut again.

No, he could not be doing what she thought he was. Why on earth would a man be doing that?

Her eyes squeezed tight as she tried to push the picture from her mind.

She failed.

Still breathless, she slitted her eyes so that she could barely see through them.

Yes, he
was
doing that.

His mouth was pressed tight against the woman’s intimate place, his head moving back and forth, his hands wrapped tight about the pale skin of her upper thighs.

Should she scream? It was clearly an assault.

Her eyes squeezed shut, her mind spun.

A low moan sounded, a very feminine moan.

It didn’t sound like the woman was in pain—well, it actually did, but like no pain Bliss had ever experienced.

She opened both eyes.

The woman’s head was tossed back, her body arched, legs spread—the man’s tongue…Oh my, Bliss didn’t have any words. The woman dropped both her hands, burying them in the man’s hair, drawing him closer. He was moaning now as well, as he lapped at the woman, acting as if he couldn’t get enough. Lady Ormande had hinted at such things, but Bliss had never truly believed her.

And the woman’s face…the faint light from the window lit her features, and Bliss could hardly describe the expression; the eyes half shut, the mouth slightly parted, as a moan followed, a very low, deep moan.

Her heart was going to beat right out of her chest. Bliss closed her hands into fists as she fought to not make a sound, although her breath was now heavy, almost panting. Clamping her lips together, she tried to still herself. An ache grew between her thighs, an ache she could not contain. She wanted. She needed—she just didn’t know what.

“Come for me now, Julianna. Now, I say.” The man growled, his voice echoing in the dim chamber.

And then it happened. Bliss wasn’t quite sure what it was, but it happened. The woman’s whole body stretched as if struck by lightning, her head falling farther back, harsh cries seeping from her lips, and her face—Bliss had never seen anything like the expression that took her features and held and held, before suddenly they softened, her eyes drooping closed.