Christmas Delights (7 page)

His piercing blue gaze held no hint of either mischief or reproach, and they spoke cheerfully of the sights in Sussex until a vegetable salad was served. When he turned to his other partner, she scooted back to the middle of her chair, forgetting Mr. Dandy-Willow’s foot. But there it was, back again. When she attempted to give him a setting-down glare, he smiled with the innocence of a child, just as his cold shoe tip found a sensitive spot at the center of her calf.

“That’s quite enough!” She stood, dropping her napkin over her salad. Lady Barbara looked up at her, her blonde brows raised.

“I am indisposed,” Victoria hissed and stalked off, her shawl dropping to the floor behind her. She was too embarrassed to pick it up. Her shoulders slumped as a footman opened the double doors of the dining room for her. Surely she was too mature to react so to a mere tickle? But the dinner had been so uncomfortable, she couldn’t stand it.

If her father thought she would marry one of those two nodcocks he was a few pennies short of a pound himself. She knew a man who would woo by playing footsie under the table would be doing the same to some girl at a house party a few years hence, married or no. They weren’t worth having, their educations notwithstanding.

She wandered for a while, until she found herself in a corridor she didn’t recognize. Double doors were set into a recess in the middle and she opened them, hoping to find a library or some other place where she could compose herself. She turned a knob, hearing her fast breaths puffing against the door. How had those two suitors brought her to near hysteria? She pushed the door open, knowing it wasn’t the men but everything. Being back to where she’d started, forced onto the marriage mart again, when she had thought she was finally secure with a husband to please her father. Instead, she’d lost two years of her life with nothing to show for it. And now she had nothing to show for her bold attempts to lose her virginity with Lewis, either.

All of a sudden, her stays felt much too tight, a sensation that had become unfamiliar since her figure had reduced. She bent as much as the steel would allow.

“Who is there?” a man asked. “Madam, are you well?”

She felt a firm hand at her back and was led deeper into the room, which seemed to be lit by a soft glow. A fireplace was lit at one end. The man pushed her down onto a cushioned bench. She attempted to compose herself and looked up into a sea of eyes.

She cried out, hunching against the wall, and felt a cold, smooth surface against her bare shoulders. Opening her eyes wider, she realized she was staring into a wall of mirrors. The man next to her had strangely striated reddish brown and amber eyes reminiscent of tiger’s-eye gemstones.

“Dear God,” she said, putting a hand to her heart.

The man moved slightly, and he came into fuller relief. Either that or her vision was clearer. She had nearly swooned.

“Lord Judah Shield,” she blurted, recognizing him.

He bowed slightly. “At your service, madam.”

“All those eyes,” she murmured. “I was quite taken aback for a moment.”

“I understand. In the firelight, the effect is unnerving.”

She made an effort to compose her breathing. “I am Lady Allen-Hill.”

He inclined his head. “You may not remember meeting me, but you showed me a cake once at a party.”

“Oh, yes,” she recalled. “I wore a dress not dissimilar to the cake.”

He smiled. “Fashion.”

“You ended up marrying the girl who came in after us, no?”

“That is correct. My wife Magdalene. You married as well?”

“And was widowed.” She sighed.

“I am sorry.”

“It is no matter. It feels more like a dream than an actual part of my past. Sir Humphrey became seriously ill so suddenly.”

“I had not put Victoria Courtnay and Lady Allen-Hill together until just now. You met Lewis Noble on the road, I believe. He mentioned you when I saw him earlier.”

“Yes. His motorized conveyance had broken down.” Why had Lewis spoken of her? Was he investigating her intentions?

“Not surprising,” Lord Judah said with a chuckle. “He never stops playing. Instead of perfecting one machine, he moves on to the next. Therefore, they are all perpetually in need of repair.”

“He’s a restless soul?”

“I don’t think he knows how to set down any roots. I sympathize with that, but I wish, well . . .” Lord Judah shifted from side to side. “Any man who is happy wants the same for his friends.”

“And Lewis Noble is unhappy,” she said. “I agree with you.”

“You like him?” Lord Judah asked.

Victoria chuckled. “Such an improper question, sir.”

“You seem unusually interested in the topic of Lewis. I’d like it if a good woman took an interest in him. He needs to settle down.”

“I don’t plan to be a good woman,” she murmured.

Lord Judah laughed. “I’m sure you won’t be able to help yourself. I have never heard any outrageous gossip about you. Your father is a bit mysterious, though.”

“He keeps everything close to his chest.” She thought of Penelope again. “But I think he’s a good man, and probably as lonely as Mr. Noble.”

“It’s good that you are both at this house party. You can drag him away from that blasted submarine.”

She glanced at him, amused. “You think this is a good occupation for a lady?”

“I think your patience would be rewarded. You’re just the kind of lady Lewis needs.” He bowed again and walked away, his shoes clicking on the parquet floor.

Victoria sat back and closed her eyes. Lewis’s friend had all but given her carte blanche to pursue him. But his friend didn’t speak for him. He was simply a happily married man who wished for his pleasure in marriage to spread in his social circle.

Still, he gave her the confidence to give Lewis one more go before trying to find an alternate lover. He had spoken about her, after all.

Smoke drifted around the men as they departed the dining room on their way to the ladies in the drawing room, reminding Lewis of his machine shop. He hung back as card games were arranged and the Gill sisters bickered over who would play the piano first and who would sing. Maids brought in trays, staring resentfully at the relaxed guests when it was they who should be enjoying Boxing Day. Eventually, everyone was settled, but he hadn’t seen the one person he’d been curious about.

Lady Allen-Hill had jumped up from the dinner table in some alarm. From the daggered glances her two dining companions had given each other, he thought they’d had something to do with it. Had they reached for her limbs or something similarly inappropriate?

Lewis couldn’t help wondering about those thighs. Slender and hard? Soft and dimpled? She and her little cousin took long walks in the gardens every day, he was told, so she probably did have some strength in her limbs. He wondered if she rode, and the thought of her astride a horse in the way he’d once seen on an erotic postcard had him facing directly into the fire until he composed himself.

Where was she? He glanced around again and caught Lord Judah’s eye. The man detached himself from Ernest Dickondell and came forward.

“You look irritated. Submarine project going badly?” his friend asked.

“No, no, going fine,” Lewis said.

“Dickondell was just inquiring after Lady Allen-Hill. I take it she is the catch of the house party.”

“Whatever do you mean?” Lewis growled.

“I heard about the dustup at dinner.”

“I heard no such thing, though she did leave abruptly.”

“I found her in the Hall of Mirrors,” Lord Judah said.

“You did? Is she there now?” He glanced at the door, ready to leave.

“I expect she retired.” Lord Judah’s unusual eyes caught the firelight, making them appear more golden than usual.

“Awfully early to retire,” Lewis mused.

Lord Judah smiled. “Someone should entice her back to the party.”

“Or not.”

Lord Judah clapped him on the shoulder. “She likes you, you know. I think you should go to her before Dickondell does.”

“What if she has a headache?” He spoke without thinking.

“You can provide a cure for that.” His friend lifted an eyebrow.

“I’m not at ease around the woman,” Lewis confessed. “Just when I think I can relax into the ways of a house party, something stops me.”

“Maybe because you find yourself unable to think of the lady in a casual fashion?”

“Hardly,” Lewis scoffed. “She’s the Liverpool heiress, you know. I’m not going to leave London.”

“I think she’d be happy if you simply paid attention to her,” Lord Judah stated. “But if you really don’t want to, a signal to Dickondell will allow him to formulate his own plans.”

Lewis narrowed his eyes. “Think she’s back in her room? With that cousin of hers?”

“The cousin is up in the nursery with the other children. They have quite a party going. You can hear the laughter from the stairs. And Eddy’s in the stable with the hands, playing dice.”

“Great,” Lewis muttered. “He’ll probably skin the lot of them.”

“Nonetheless, it is a rare chance to speak to her without fear of interruption.”

Except from my own tortured thoughts
. He forced a smile for his friend. “You are right, of course.”

Lord Judah gave him a knowing glance, then clapped his hand on Lewis’s shoulder again. “You had best go now, before Lady Florence comes up for a chat. I can sense her lurking now.”

Lewis nodded and departed without further comment.

The front hall, stairs, and corridors of the guest wing were surprisingly free of servants. They must be taking any chance they could to celebrate the end of their holiday. Candles burned so low on the walls that his path seemed like one from a waking dream. When he found Lady Allen-Hill’s door, he knocked, wondering what he would find: welcome or dismissal?

T
he door cracked open. Lewis saw Lady Allen-Hill still wore her evening dress, though her thick hair had been released from some of its more tortuous braids, which had earlier been tucked and pinned so that they hung down the back of her neck. Her mahogany curls now fell down her left arm, cradling the outside of one magnificent breast.

He inhaled sharply, searching for a peek of nipple as his gaze outlined her feminine curves. “You left dinner rather suddenly.”

She nodded. “My dinner companions were not congenial.”

Lust had him blinking, trying to remember who she’d been seated with. “They came down from Liverpool especially to see you.”

“I can only manage one at a time.” She smiled, but the expression did not reach her eyes.

His trousers felt uncomfortably tight and he wondered if his voice was higher than usual when he spoke again. “Is your father hoping you will choose one of them?”

“I cannot imagine they would be here otherwise, but the countess may have plans for them. She is far more marriage-minded at this time than I am.”

He leaned against the doorjamb as his center of gravity continued to shift. “Do you have a preference between the two?”

She inhaled, her lips parted slightly. Could she smell his arousal? On her, from this slight distance, he could smell some kind of hair pomade made of coconut oil. It made her hair shine as if it drew light from any available source.

“I have a preference for you, Mr. Noble, but you seem to no more than pull me in before you push me away.” Her voice caught.

“I am sorry for that.” He stared into her eyes, admiring her boldness. “I would much rather pull you in than push you away.”

“Then please stop doing so.”

He nodded.

She crossed her arms, one over the other, and tucked them underneath her bosom. “Well?”

He tilted his head, wondering what she was waiting for, given her straightforward nature. “Are you going to invite me in?”

“Penelope,” she said with an air of exasperation. “She’s staying in the room with me.”

He smiled. “I’m told the children are happy in the nursery, and therefore she is unlikely to surprise us, but perhaps you would rather join me in my room?”

“From a practical standpoint, that is not a good idea. This dress will be impossible to manage without a maid.” She unbent enough to lift a finger. “And don’t tell me you can act as my maid. You would be certain to rip something. I shall ring for one, and then meet you in a bit.”

He nodded, wondering if he would hear from her again that night. Might she have second thoughts? She closed the door with one last, lingering glance that told him she might come after all. Strolling down the hall, with the lights flickering, he kept moving past his room until he reached the end of the corridor. A blacker rectangle of light was a window that had probably once been an arrow slit. He peered out, hoping to see something of the wintry landscape outside. Perhaps the sight would cool him down. The frigid cold of the corridor was not reducing the heat in his loins. He could see nothing but blackness, a pit similar to the state of his mind, wiped clean for once. Just accepting, willing, instead of analyzing.

Eventually, he heard a door open a ways behind him and turned back toward his room. At his door, he met Lady Allen-Hill, who was now wearing the casual sort of dress a woman might don to do inventory on her jams and jellies.

“I’ve become used to seeing you in a dressing gown,” he commented as he opened the door.

She passed through. “It’s much too early to risk that. But this dress is easy to manage.”

“If we are caught, I shall tell the interloper you are dressed to help me make a repair on the submarine,” he joked, following her in.

She fixed him with a gimlet stare. “You do not like my attire, sir?”

“It is too plain for you,” he said. “I like all the feminine, embroidered details on your clothing. This dress reminds me of what my cousins used to wear in Bristol, when we lived there.” And there it was, another reference to Alys. Why did he torture himself so? She would not enter his thoughts again during this tryst. He forbade it.

To set his thoughts in motion, he shut the door and put his hands on Lady Allen-Hill’s waist, drawing her forward. As her hips brushed his, her hands went up to balance on his rib cage. He glanced down. From this angle, her manicured fingers were the epitome of feminine grace. He bit back a groan at the thought of what they could do to his shaft. And she was a widow, too, not a blushing young miss. She might actually be willing to do some of the things he imagined late at night, when he was too tired to think about machinery.

He forgot about her fingers when her hips touched his again. She was not as tall as he, so she must have extraordinarily long legs. His erection tightened to an almost painful intensity at the realization. Long legs, wrapped around him. Legs in the air, spread for his maximum penetration. Slender legs bent at the knee, feet pressed into the mattress, so her hips could gyrate against his as she cried out in inelegant, undeniable ecstasy.

His fingers tightened around her upper arms.

“Too many clothes,” he croaked.

“I agree,” she said in a choked whisper. “But here, I need to give you this.” She handed him a tin box.

“What’s this?”

“My rubbers.” She looked up at him hopefully.

He smiled and took the box. “Thank you.”

She reached for his tie at the same time as he reached for the buttons down the front of the dark blue gown. Their fingers and arms tangled. She squeaked, he chuckled. They apologized, arms flailing as they tried to work out who could go first.

“Let’s take off our own clothes,” he suggested.

“Good idea,” she agreed.

He found difficulties presented themselves with this as well, since he couldn’t take his eyes off her as each bit of underclothing, then pearlescent skin, revealed itself. This must be how it was to undress himself as a wee lad in skirts, all fumbling and missed opportunities to unbutton. The lady chuckled as a button on his waistcoat refused to go through the hole for a third time. By then, she was down to her combinations.

“Let me,” she said, shaking her head.

He could smell her skin, and a hint of soap, when she stepped close enough to take over the unbuttoning from him. Fine dark hairs stood up from her bare arms.

“You’re cold,” he whispered.

“You will warm me,” she said in a practical manner, tugging his waistcoat off his arms. Then she pulled his shirt from his trousers and, after loosening his tie, set to work on the buttons.

He stood mute as she took out his cufflinks and dropped them on the mantelpiece, then removed his shirt, wondering if he’d ever been so undressed in front of a woman in firelight.

She ran her fingers up a vein on his bare arm, as if playing piano. “You have beautiful muscles.”

He flexed instinctively, making her laugh. “I could already tell they were large, Lewis. Such intellect and brute strength do not often go together.”

“I lift a great deal of heavy metal items,” he told her.

She nodded thoughtfully, then whipped his undershirt over his head. When she drew in a sharp breath, he looked down and saw his nipples had hardened to tight little points.

His gaze shifted and he saw her tongue dart over her lower lip, as if she wanted to taste him. His cock twitched and his throat went so dry, he’d probably lost the power of speech. Mutely, he reached for her combinations, tearing down the front placket, scattering buttons across the floor. He pushed her down until she sprawled along the sofa in front of the fireplace and settled himself on top of her, thinking nothing but “Mine. Now.”

One hand went into her hair, the other to a soft globe of breast. He tweaked her nipple, willing it into the same peak as his as his mouth crushed hers. She squirmed, which allowed his pelvis to settle against her soft warmth. One of her legs drew up along the cushions. He let go of her hair and took her leg instead, grinding against her. The realization that layers of cloth kept his cock from her hot depths was enough to make him want to curse the skies. He drew up his knees and lifted himself off her, though he did not release her from their kiss, and fought his trouser front.

Her hands moved from his back to his waist. She helped him undo buttons and push down fabric, until the only thing between his cock and her was her combinations.

“Lift,” he urged, hoping to pull them off her.

“Use the slit,” she said, pulling him back down. “I don’t want to wait.”

“Amazing woman,” he said, reaching down to separate the fabric. He took both edges and ripped up until the tear reached the open front. Then she was bare to him, bare to his gaze and his body both.

He saw a triangle of curls matching her dark head, smelled a faint scent of coconut there, too, as well as musk. Dipping his fingers to that forbidden place, he found her hot and damp. His fingers made her gasp and move even closer to him. He opened the tin box and took out a long sheath, then carefully pushed his cock into it, wetting the tip. She put her fingers to his cheeks and pulled his mouth back to her, kissing him openmouthed. He raked her tongue with his, learning the contours of her mouth as he settled against her, his cock rubbing along her secret place. When she jerked against him, he knew he’d found her pearl. He moved along her again, generating more response from her. The third time she groaned, her long legs lifting and folding until they wrapped around him, just as he’d imagined.

He reached down and spread her wide for him, then moved his cock to her opening and thrust home in one smooth movement.

She cried out, bowing back, and he wondered if he’d given her the ultimate pleasure so soon. What a sweetly responsive woman. But then he opened his eyes and saw a look of tension on her face, quite the opposite from what he expected.

A little of the fog left his brain, for all that he was buried inside her. “Did I hurt you?” Involuntarily, he pulled back a little.

But she found his buttocks and gripped them hard, digging her fingers in, her jaw taut with determination. “Keep going.”

He bent his head to her hair and did as she ordered. After a few slow strokes, she seemed to relax, and he realized it had been a while for her. She hadn’t been married for long. Perhaps he was the first man she’d sported with since her husband’s death. The thought made him feel tender. She moved her hands up his back, stroking his skin. He kissed her temple, tasting salt. His knees rasped along the cushions. She shifted, allowing him to further penetrate her secret depths. The way she felt was everything. He thrust inside her in a kind of tropical haze. The fire kept them warm, and her smell was a nautical one. It was as if he rocked on the sea, as well as inside her. His completion caught him by surprise. He arched his back, thrusting spasmodically as the orgasm took him, and then fell back to earth with her still gripping him.

He opened his eyes and found her regarding him with a frown between her eyes. “I’m still hard. I’ll keep going for you.”

She shook her head. “Do not trouble yourself.”

He grinned and found her mouth with his, determined to overwhelm her, to drive her to the ultimate completion. Not trouble himself, indeed. Changing position so that he could rub her pearl directly, he began to stroke her, holding her legs as far apart as he could in the narrow space. Soon, she couldn’t kiss him anymore, and her gaze went soft and unfocused. He nuzzled her neck as she came apart beneath him, cooing with surprise. He felt the pulsation of her heartbeats against his chest.

As soon as her breaths slowed, she pushed against him, and he realized he had his full weight on her. He shifted to the cushions, attempting to stay inside her as they moved into a side-to-side position. She, however, pulled back, disengaging.

“Don’t you want to be held?” he asked.

“I must go. What if Penelope comes back?”

He could tell she was still out of breath. “The maid will stay with her until you arrive. We can do this more than once, you know. Just relax with me for a while and then I will be ready.”

She moved back so quickly that she lost her position on the sofa. He grabbed for her as her bottom hit the carpet.

“Ooof!” Her hands went to her knees and she pushed them together. The slim, firm thighs had him already longing for another go.

“I’m so sorry,” he apologized. “We should have gone to the bed.” Wary of his own balance since his clothing was still around his knees, he crouched next to her and put his arms around her. “Come, let’s test the mattress.”

She shook her head. “I need to go, Lewis, truly.”

“I’ll get you a towel,” he said, feeling a hundred kinds of fool. Somehow he had failed her. Not enough experience, and none with a lady. Had it been wrong to impose
la petite mort
on her? Perhaps she had really wanted him to stop.

Turning away, he removed the rubber, pulled up his small clothes and trousers, then went to get a basin and towel. She had her dress over her head before he arrived, but she took what he offered and went behind a screen in the corner. He gathered the rest of his clothes and seated himself on a chair, his senses still swimming from his release and the heavy, sealike scent of sex in the small room. Closing his eyes, he allowed himself to drift until he heard the sound of the screen moving back.

Victoria put her hand to her chest to still her racing heart. Her first orgasm, followed by an embarrassing fall to the floor, her first lover’s obvious fear that he hadn’t satisfied her, all had her senses on overload. But over and above all that, she was frantic to leave before he saw her again and realized she had blood on the fabric of her combinations, which was, in truth, still bleeding.

Now that she was a widow, no value would have been placed on her virginity. No one had cared about virgin widows since King Henry VIII’s wife, Katherine of Aragon, had so ardently pleaded that she hadn’t slept with her first husband to stave off losing her position as Queen of England. But nonetheless, Victoria didn’t want Lewis to
know
. To realize she hadn’t known how to find completion, to keep him from making all that extra effort when she was certain, as she’d been told by friends, that all a man wanted after exerting himself was to sleep.