Her Gilded Prison (Daughters of Sin Book 1) (11 page)

“I’ve been made very welcome since I’ve come here. I only wish there was something I could do to help the family.”

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omething I could do to help the family.

A thought that had lain repressed and dormant burst inside her head. He was proposing a solution. She’d been mulling over solutions. He was charming and handsome, the heir Humphry had wished for. And he did not find her repugnant.

In the instant before her careful self-censoring shutter closed upon her lips, brazen courage forced itself out of her depths. She whispered, “But there is.”

Instantly she checked herself. Dear Lord, had she really uttered those words? She must have for his head was tilted and his expression inquiring.

Before she could lose her nerve she went on quickly, “The only way to prevent

Edgar from becoming the next heir is for me to provide one.” She flicked her tongue over dry lips. “If I am carrying the possible next heir, Araminta will relinquish Edgar.”

Her heart thundered in her ears. She swallowed painfully, hesitated then burst out, “Will you help me, Stephen?”

She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry—hysterically, of course—at the look on his face.

Withdrawing her hands she said, stepping back quickly, “I have embarrassed you. I apologize. It is late and I do not know what I’m saying.”

His hand shot out and he grasped her wrist, pulling her to him and lowering his head to hers as if to study her better. To her astonishment he cupped her face and said slowly, “Is that a proposition?”

Embarrassment washed over her, replaced by relief that he’d repeated the question, giving her the opportunity to withdraw with dignity. Thank God for his clear thinking, for she had never spoken more rashly in her life. Propositioning a younger man? What must he think of her?

Yet when she tried to snatch away her hand, muttering that she had no idea what had come over her, he would not relinquish it. A potent cocktail of mortification and fear  churned  in  Sybil’s belly,  not  eased  when  he  said  softly,  ignoring  her  babbled refutation,  “If  that  is  a  proposition  then  the  pleasure  of  it  alone  would  be  most enticing.”

Sybil sucked in a deep breath. No, this was wrong. She wasn’t even sure how she’d reached this point but it seemed he sensed she’d lost courage, for he gently put his finger to her lips and said, “With all due respect, Lady Partington, I was led to believe you were unable to provide His Lordship with an heir. It is of course the reason, I surmised, that I was invited here.”

Sybil swayed at the rush of blood from her head. Suddenly Stephen’s arms were about her shoulders, keeping her upright as she forced out the words. “Humphry has kept a mistress since before we were married. Together he and I have had four children but when we tried for another child after George died, Humphry was unable to...to...” She shrugged, unable to finish. “This afternoon I begged him to try with me again.” She looked down at her trembling hands, clasped across her stomach. “He was very kind and apologetic,” she murmured, “but made it clear it was quite out of the question. It seems the idea of being intimate with me is clearly so distasteful—”

Stephen lowered his head so close his words stirred the hair at her temples. “The idea of being...intimate with you, Lady Partington is the very antithesis of distasteful.” He seemed to relish the words. “If that is what you were suggesting?”

She could not break the lengthening silence.

He was giving her the opportunity to retract her proposition while making clear he liked the idea.

Fire and brimstone, thought Sybil, feeling consumed by it as she closed her eyes, while at the same time the heady thrum of need and want pulsed through her. What did she have to lose? Nothing, surely? And everything to gain...if she only had the courage to follow through.

She opened her eyes when Stephen cleared his throat. She was conscious of the warmth emanating from him. The scent of bergamot and horses assailed her nostrils; a pleasant, manly scent she recognized with a rush of familiarity from the occasion he comforted her over Lizzy Hazlitt’s mare.

He showed no trace of embarrassment and seemed only to want to clarify the matter. “So if your hopes for entering into this unusual coupling are realized, have you thought how you might explain an apparently immaculate conception to your husband?” He seemed amused as well as concerned.

Sybil shook her head and avoided his eye, suddenly wishing she could turn the clock back. How could she have been so bold? Nevertheless, she said truthfully, “I believe Humphry would prefer anything rather than hand the reins to Edgar.” She smiled grimly. “Anything, that is, except do his duty with me.”

She’d barely finished before Stephen had both her hands in one of his large ones and the other clasped round her waist. Highly irregular yet the most exciting compromising situation she’d ever been in.

“I can see you wavering, Lady Partington, so am spurred on to encourage you not to lose heart. I believe it is an excellent idea, and I accept with the greatest delight—on one condition.” He was smiling and she saw the excited anticipation swirling in the depths of his warm gray eyes.

Her heart thumped even harder as she wondered why she didn’t cast everything to the wind and simply take to her heels like a coward. Instead she whispered, “What is your condition?” as his face filled her vision and she was conscious of his gently curved lips drawing nearer.

“That you regard this...solution...as more than just a conscious act of duty.”

A tremor ran through her as she closed her eyes, relishing the light caress of his hand over her  hair.  Her  body  tingled  with  expectation;  so  that  she  could  fully  pledge  her commitment  when  he  added,  brushing  her lips with  his fingertips,  “And  that you respond to me accordingly.”

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tephen followed her into her bedchamber before she could change her mind. She was sweet and shy and his desire was raging. Lady Partington was no innocent debutante playing coquetry with no real knowledge of the consequences. He’d had plenty of those. They were diverting cameos played out in a public place and while he enjoyed  flirtation,  this  was  the  real  thing.  His  breathing was labored, his erection painful.

In front of him, the hesitancy in Lady Partington’s step suggested she was reconsidering but Stephen guided her forward with one hand on her bottom.

At the door, she turned. She looked so desperately concerned when she stammered, “I don’t make a habit of inviting young men into my boudoir,” that he nearly laughed.

Instead he simply smiled and touched his lips to her brow. “If I thought you did, Lady Partington, I wouldn’t be as excited as I am.” He closed the door behind them then led her gently but firmly toward the four-poster. “Now unless you’ve changed your mind about providing a solution that will make your husband and ultimately both your daughters happy, let us proceed.”

Her maid had already prepared her for sleep and a candle on a low table added to the glow of the one she held.

He was conscious of his voice, intimate and full of promise—and hopefully of reassurance—when he murmured, “It sounds like you’ve had a lonely time of it in this room. Unlikely we’ll be disturbed, eh?”

He was glad she kept her head held high rather than slumping from the inference of her husband’s lack of interest.

With brittle pride, she said, “Humphry has visited me less than half a dozen times in this room during twenty years of marriage. No, we will not be disturbed.”

She blew out one candle, stared at him, then seemed to banish all indecision. Nothing in her gestures now suggested this was anything other than a purely practical solution to the collective family’s problems.

“Please turn your back, Stephen. Oh!”

She had obviously not expected to find him standing so close. Or to be taken in his arms. He was disappointed she didn’t go limpid but he did manage to chase some of the steel from her spine as he gently massaged the nape of her neck. Still, he wanted her to throw herself into the pleasure of it. This would be no fun at all if he was unable to bring her to rapture at his touch.

“No, don’t blow out the other candle,” he protested mildly, arresting her hand, which he placed on his heart. “Do you feel it racing?” He’d thought to place it on his cock to reassure her that he certainly found her desirable, however he feared she might find that too confronting.

“But, I—”

He removed the candlestick from her grasp and set it down on the table. He could see she was shivering uncontrollably when he slipped his hands beneath the silk of her shawl to hold her.

The mattress dipped under his weight as he drew her onto his lap.

“Put your arms around me,” he instructed softly, holding her head against the hollow of his neck. “Now,” he murmured, “you didn’t answer my question.” Again, he took one of her hands and rested it against his heart. “Do you feel how fast it beats?”

“Anticipation for what is about to happen will affect any man like that—except my husband.”

“There is no excitement in possessing something undesirable. Your husband clearly has no discernment.” Lowering his face, he touched his lips to hers. He drew back, surprised. He’d not expected the frisson of sensation that fizzed through him. His cock hardened even more while his anticipation notched up several levels.

She did not respond. He thought quickly. In order to make this an encounter to remember he needed to fuel her with the same desire, otherwise it was worth nothing.

He rose, scooped her up and lay her on the mattress. She stared up at him in her thin night rail while he, still fully clothed, caged her with his body, gently kissing her throat, her collarbone and finally, once more, her lips. Tentatively she kissed him back but she still held herself aloof, as if terrified of succumbing to the base, elemental desire that was beginning to consume him.

His enjoyment grew. The seduction of a sweet, shy older woman who needed to be taught that love at any age was worth celebrating was more exciting than his previous hot and sweaty encounters where enthusiasm was high from the outset.

Her skin was smooth and dewy, her breasts full and firm beneath the sheer fabric that clothed her.

Smiling as he studied her, he slowly untied the bow of her lace-edged night rail and slipped his hand beneath. Her faint exhalation of surprise echoed his as he closed his hand over one of her glorious breasts. He began to massage the small peak until it hardened. He himself was so hard it was almost painful.

“Stephen, you need not go to so much trouble.” He stilled. “You’re not enjoying it?”

“Too much, but you are not obliged to pretend for my benefit.” Her words sounded as if they were forced from her, her eyes closed as if she could not look at him.

Guilt? Was she frigid? He didn’t think she was.

She whispered, “All I ask is that you join me beneath the sheets and we get this over with.”

Offended, he climbed off the bed and stood, tidying his rumpled garments. “So this really is just duty for you?” He knew he sounded like an injured schoolboy but he couldn’t help himself.

“Stephen, you don’t understand—”

“I understand very well. You want me to give you a child but you want nothing more from me.” Breathing heavily, he promised, “If I am required to...perform without us both gaining pleasure from the bargain then I withdraw my services.”

“I am fifteen years older than you. I am old and...certainly no beauty.”

“Not a beauty?” He sat heavily on the bed and looked at her. In the candlelight her eyes looked luminous with fear and his anger dissipated. He reached for her hand. “You’ve been conditioned to believe it. And by whom? Your husband, who’s never looked at any woman save his mistress. No doubt Araminta has picked up her father’s contemptuous attitude. The little jade thinks she’s too pretty by half, and I’ll admit she has spirit you’ll never have—a most engaging if infuriating commodity—but your looks are far more pleasing to me than her smug self-assurance.” At her shock he went on, “Now, I’m tired of trying to make it clear to you that I’ve been dreaming wicked, carnal dreams since I unwittingly spied on you through the casement. By God, you were a luscious sight and I want to enjoy you now.”

At her tremulous smile he laughed and threw himself onto her, demanding, “Now kiss me back or I refuse to partake in this bedroom sport.”

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fter that it was easy. Sybil’s reserve had never been so fully withdrawn within such a short time. No one had ever tried to cajole her into anything beyond the dry, formal relations that were the preserve of the drawing room and which, in her case with her husband, persisted so very rarely into her bedchamber.

She’d been married at seventeen during her first season. There’d been no flirtatious encounters with potential suitors beforehand. Humphry had proposed and that had been that. He’d been handsome and charming and he’d easily won her heart. During their six-week bridal tour in Cornwall he’d visited her once a week, performed the marriage act efficiently and in silence, and while her heart had reached out to him her body had been left cold by the experience. He’d not touched, kissed or caressed her. Ever.