Cheryl Holt (6 page)

“Eight times will be fine,” she concluded.

“If we decide that’s too few, you’ll still have this place. We can extend our appointments.”

She couldn’t believe her surge of excitement: a drowning woman thrown a rope! “I would like that,” she admitted, pretending a calm she hardly felt.

“Along the way, should you need to cancel, just send a note ’round to my office.”

“And if
you
should need to cancel,” she echoed, “I would prefer that you not contact me. I will simply come here to learn that you have not arrived.”

“As you wish.”

“ ’Tis safer. For both of us.”

“Yes, it is,” he couldn’t help but acknowledge. “Well, then . . . are you ready to begin?”

Her heart pounding, her skin heating, she squirmed with anticipation. “Yes, I’m ready.”

In all actuality, she felt as if she’d been
ready
her entire life.

“Do you have any idea of what occurs between a man and a woman when they are alone together?” James stood next to the sideboard, eyeing her where she sat on the short sofa.

“Not really,” Lady Abigail answered honestly. “I know they lie down in the same bed, and somehow babies are magically created.” She shifted uncomfortably. “However, I’ve always suspected that there was a little more to it than that.”

He chuckled, asking, “Have you ever seen a naked man?”

“Of course not!” she maintained vehemently. “When would I have?”

“How about a painting? Perhaps a statue.” She shook her head. “Maybe one of your brothers when they were bathed as children?”

“I was never allowed to watch or help. It simply wasn’t done.”

James crossed the room and settled himself next to her, not touching but nonetheless feeling the caress of her all the way down his body. Her unique smell filled the space around him, and it flowed over him like a carnal cloud, stimulating his senses.

In profile, her face was perfectly assembled. The high, smooth brow, the long lashes, the adorable nose, the full lips. Combined with the swell of her breast, the tuck of her waist, the flair of her hip, she was an outrageously beautiful female who had tickled his fancy on more than one occasion during the past few days and nights.

Remarkably, he’d suffered numerous moments of physical and emotional turmoil as he’d pondered her request, where their assignations could lead, what her acquiescence would mean. Especially after Michael had provided the information
regarding her lofty station, he had been unable to keep her far from his thoughts. Even his dreams had been disordered by her, and upon rising, his tangled sheets were proof of how he’d tossed and turned, fantasizing about her both consciously and unconsciously.

As he’d grasped when they first met, aiding the woman presented numerous erotic possibilities—none of which he had the least interest in resisting. He’d always been called a bastard, for reasons having nothing to do with his birth, and in light of his plans where she was concerned, many would likely consider his base character to be showing its true form. But he didn’t care.

He wanted her. It was as simple as that. And he intended to have her—eventually.

From the start, he’d been devastatingly attracted to her. She stroked his male temperament in a fashion that had only happened previously on the rarest occasions. He was a man of vast experience with women, possessed of a strong sexual drive, and he seldom declined what was offered, so he understood well what was occurring whenever he drew near to Abigail Weston.

They were intimately compatible in a manner he could not deny. Whether she gave off a specific scent, a vibration, a chemistry, he didn’t know, but he was aware of her on a plane that was different from the other females who orbited his universe, and he was glad. For so long, he’d been searching for a diversion from the lackluster carnal encounters in which he regularly engaged. The lovers with whom he consorted were always possessed of great skill. They could and would do the most flagrant, wanton, even perverse things in their attempts to please him, but, quite simply put, he was bored with all of them.

Discontented, unhappy in his personal affairs, he was perpetually seeking the type of hot desire that had come so easily when he was young and sexual congress was still so new. Without exception, each moment of each encounter had been breathtaking. He wanted to discover the path back to those heady times, and he couldn’t prevent himself from
hoping that perhaps he’d found it in the slender blond sitting next to him. Everything about her aroused him.

Even now, just from being near her, his trousers were tight, his loins uncomfortable, and the two of them had yet to commence. He simply couldn’t quit thinking about her and what he would like to do with her, and he didn’t intend to stop himself from enjoying any pleasures he might ultimately encounter. Of course, she didn’t realize his plan; she thought she was here to learn the variations of marital intercourse so she could interpret them for her younger sister.

But James understood more about women than any other subject, and he appreciated where their innocent talking would lead. She was an untried, twenty-five-year-old virgin, her body primed and ready for a sexual upheaval. He, with great delight, was prepared to make sure she experienced one.

From the straightening of her spine, and the nervous opening and closing of her fists, he could tell he disturbed her. These were very good signs of the sensual future they would inevitably share.

“You’ve never seen a naked man?” he asked again. “Not even when you were engaged?”

“Mercy, no!” she asserted, blushing delightfully. “How could you imagine such an occurrence would have happened?”

“Many betrothed couples decide they cannot wait for their wedding night.”

“Not me. And certainly not my fiancé!” She dared a sideways glance, looking at him through veiled lashes. “What kind of woman must you believe me to be?”

“I think you are the finest lady,” he responded truthfully, while contemplating how dreadfully pretty she was up close. All smooth skin, moist lips, and pink cheeks. “I make no judgments through my questions. I only wish to determine where we should begin, and I had wondered if perhaps you and your fiancé . . .”

“No.” She laughed softly. “I hardly knew him, and I was never alone with him.”

“Very well,” he said, intrigued by the sheltered life she’d led. She was five years younger than himself, yet in many ways innocent as a child. Her upbringing had been so contrary to his own. Just by the fact that his mother was an actress, he’d been raised around theater people and other artists, so he’d nearly always associated with women who were cognizant of the facts of life from an early age. With the exception of his wife, his lovers had always been adept, uninhibited women.

Her naïveté captivated him; it thrilled him, as well. He relished the chance to act as her tutor. What sort of willing pupil might she eventually turn out to be?

“Let us start,” he said, “by my explaining the basics. We will expand from there.”

“That sounds like a good idea.”

One corner of her lovely mouth lifted in a tentative smile, making her appear as if she couldn’t quite decide if she wanted to hear what he had to say or not. Despite her insistence that she was ready to learn all, she was about to be tremendously shocked—perhaps even alarmed—by what he would impart.

“This will be difficult for you. We are going to discuss things you’ve never imagined, and we will speak of body parts and bodily functions. I don’t want you to feel overly embarrassed or shamed about the topics we will mention. Please ask me any questions that come to mind. Can you do that? Can you ask me questions?”

“I think so,” she murmured quietly. “ ’Tis very easy to talk with you.”

“Good. I promise that I will do my best to respond openly and honestly.” She nodded hesitantly, accepting his gesture, and he continued. “A man and a woman are created differently,” he said. “In their private parts between their legs.”

“Why?”

“Because their private parts are used for sexual mating.
Unclothed, a man and a woman look completely dissimilar.”

“Really?” She held her eyes bravely affixed to his, but he could sense that she wanted to peek lower, as though she could peer through his trousers to see if his statement was true. The thought of her viewing his naked form and assessing his aroused state sent a jolt of heat straight to his groin, and he had to fight back a lusty groan. Amazingly, she could instill such stinging desire, not by doing anything, but solely through her proximity.

“Really,” he eventually replied, then he paused for a lengthy period, pondering his unruly cravings—so long, in fact, that she finally broke the silence with a chuckle.

“Might I hope,” she inquired, “that your hesitation means you’re having as much difficulty with this as I am?”

“No, it’s not that,” he said, smiling while he lied. “I’m just trying to think of the appropriate way to describe the process.”

Leaning forward, he braced his elbows on his knees, deciding that the details would be easier to supply if he avoided her gaze. “A man is constructed differently from a woman. Mainly in the spot where his legs are joined. He has a sort of . . .” Deep in thought, he stared at the opposite wall, choosing words. How could he accurately describe the bloody thing to someone who’d never seen one? “A sort of protrusion.”

“What is it called—this protrusion?”

“Many things. A phallus, a penis, a cock.” There were many other names, but for the life of him, he couldn’t recall any of them.

“How do you refer to it?”

He cleared his throat. “I suppose I use
cock
most often.”

“Then I believe that’s the term I shall use.”

He hardened instantly. Just the notion of the word coming from her pristine lips was unbearable, and he caught himself shifting from side to side, trying to ease the fullness of his trousers.

He forced himself onward. “A cock is usually flaccid as
a man goes about his day-to-day affairs, but during a time of sexual stimulation, it becomes very hard and erect. It is from this
hard
member that a white cream erupts during mating. The white cream carries his seed with which he impregnates a woman. The release of this . . . this cream is a highly pleasurable development, one that men seek to enjoy before all others.”

“What causes this
eruption
of a man’s bodily cream?”

“A man places his cock betwixt a woman’s legs.” Realizing that the next might be the most embarrassing topic she’d hear all day and wanting to observe how she withstood it, he compelled his gaze to meet hers. In her world, for a gentleman to even know about female menses, let alone to comment on it, would be the height of indecorum. “He pushes the tip into the spot from which her monthly blood flows”—no visible reaction—“where there is a bodily opening to her womb, then he shoves the entire cock inside—”

“Inside?” She sounded incredulous, aghast.

“Yes . . . inside, and by stroking himself back and forth, a captivating friction is created which causes him to spill his seed.”

A long silence ensued, and she finally murmured, “I see,” although from the bewilderment on her face, he was fairly certain she didn’t see at all. She nervously wet her bottom lip, then asked, “Are the parties undressed?”

“Sometimes,” he responded. “Sometimes not.”

“Why is that?”

“They might be so overcome with passion that they hope to accomplish the act as quickly as possible, so they wouldn’t want to waste time disrobing.”

“And how about during more normal circumstances?”

“If a husband wished to preserve his wife’s modesty, he could simply lift the hem of her nightgown. However, I do not know of a single man who takes his marital pleasure that way.”

“Why?” she asked again. So many whys.

“Well . . . most men enjoy the extra luxury created by
touching their wives’ skin. They become more excited when their wives are naked.”

“A woman would most likely be completely unclothed from the very first?”

“Yes.”

She inhaled, then let the breath out slowly, almost painfully. “I suppose this sounds dreadfully improper, but I must admit that I am utterly fascinated. And astounded. I had no idea. . . .”

“ ’Tis amazing, really,” he agreed. “Imagine how shocked a gently raised girl could be on her wedding night.”

“As Caroline’s distressed friend is said to have been.”

“Yes. Just like her, and your sister could easily end up in the same predicament. A bride’s initial marital experience can be very frightening if the husband is not a considerate lover. As I said earlier, I think you’re being very wise by planning ahead.”

She searched his eyes for the truth of his statement and found it. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

“I have a question,” she said, suddenly eager to go on. Apparently, receipt of this thimbleful of knowledge had only served to pique her curiosity. Already she desired more. “I don’t exactly understand how the man and woman fit together. . . .”

“I thought you might wonder, so I have something to show you.” He grabbed his satchel from the table and rested it on his lap, her eyes following his every move. “I’ve brought some pictures that will illustrate what I’m telling you.”

“What kind of pictures?” she asked.

“Sexual pictures. They were painted by a friend of mine in Paris many years ago. They’re quite enlightening.”

“What do they depict?”

“They portray a man and woman progressing through the steps of a sexual joining.” He relocated himself on the sofa so that their arms and thighs were pressed together,
the fabric of her skirt flowing across his leg and boot. “Obviously, they are motionless renderings, so they can’t give you the entire flavor of how it goes, but the drawings are very detailed.”

“Why would an artist make such pictures?” She squinted at the flap of the envelope as though she could compel her vision to pierce through the leather so that she could view the first sketch.

He stated the obvious. “For money.”

“No!”

“There is quite a market for this sort of thing.” He grinned as he recalled Pierre, Paris, and the wonderful days he’d spent there as a young man. “The demand is much greater for these than it is for my friend’s innocuous watercolors of Paris street corners.”