The Accidental Duchess (14 page)

There would be some pain, but Emma had once implied that too much was made of that by women trying to scare girls into being virtuous. Still, she did not expect this night to be very pleasant.

She thought about the scene of love in her novel. She had included a lot of kissing. Other things too, such as she had figured out happened sometimes. Her characters had been lovers, however. Truly lovers. Since they took pleasure in each other’s company, of course they would find pleasure in physical bonds too.

Her situation tonight would be different from that. She avoided dwelling on the details, or picturing any of it. Her assumption, however, was that it should be over quickly.

The warm water soothed her. The soap made the mist smell sweet. The servant left her to finish washing, and laid out her nightdress on the chair. Then she left, the door latching behind her with a sharp click.

Lydia eased back so her neck rested on the metal tub’s rim and her rump slid down. She bent her legs and raised her knees so she could submerge most of the rest of her.

“Now, that is a sight to take away a man’s breath. You look like a nymph whose modesty is protected by nothing more than water.”

It was her breath that caught. She noted with a fast glance that the water afforded her very little modesty in truth.

She turned her head. Penthurst stood ten feet away. He must have entered as the servant left. He had shed his coats and cravat and wore no boots. The candles’ light made his white shirt a brilliant contrast to his dark pantaloons. Except for where the open collar revealed a deep V of skin.

She tried to sink deeper in the water. Her voice felt stuck in her chest. “I expected you later.”

“I heard you in the bath, and decided to see just what gift fate had delivered to me.”

She realized that water or no water, he could see her naked body. The fluid shimmers of the lights’ reflections hid very little. Dismayed by the change from how she expected the night to unfold, she sat up and embraced her knees so some part of her might be covered.

He walked over. “I should have remained silent, so you did not become shy.” He knelt on one knee beside the tub. With two fingers under her chin, he lifted her face from her knees. “You are beautiful, Lydia. I do not think you know how lovely you are.”

He kissed her lips, then her bare shoulder. “Are you finished with the bath? The water has cooled.”

She could not speak. She could barely inhale. She nodded and reached toward the chair and the bath linen.

His hand closed on it first. He stood and offered her his hand. To take it meant unfolding her body and rising out of the water. She would be unable to hide anything. She stared at that hand while she mustered some courage. She might be inexperienced, but she did not want to appear no more mature than a girl married off after her first season.

Hoping she looked sophisticated, and praying her mortification would not show, she took his hand and stood. She glanced down. No one, not even Sarah, had seen her so thoroughly unclothed.

He did not stare or gawk, but as he helped her step out of the tub she felt his gaze on her, sliding over her body, lingering on her breasts and legs and mound. He wrapped the linen around her. She clutched it close and tried to dry herself with its edges.

“I will do it.” He took another linen off the chair.

She kept the towel around her, holding it closed in front while he dried her arms and shoulders. She continued grasping it when he knelt on one knee and began drying her legs.

“You are very composed. I am impressed.” His hands moved the towel over her feet and shins.

“Well, I am not a child. Women of the world do not become madwomen just because a new experience unfolds.”

He looked up, amused. “A woman of the world. Is that what I have married?”

“Not much of one, I will admit. Due to the war, I have not traveled the way Cassandra did. And due to my aunts and my brother, I have not lived independently or even with much freedom, except that which I could arrange without their knowing. Yet I aspire to be one, and have done my best under the circumstances.”

He lifted one of her legs and set the foot on his knee. The towel fell away so most of her leg showed. Almost all of it. Almost up to—

“Now that you are a duchess, being a woman of the world will be easier.” He used his towel to dry her leg. Except it was already fairly dry, so the effect was more a caress. Slowly, up and down his hands moved that cloth. She became very aware of how high each time. Almost to her—

She tried to ignore it, but her body could not. Her senses exclaimed with alarm each time the caress rose high. Then, after a while, another reaction joined the shock. An odd stirring made her wait for that shock, as if she wanted it.

Standing on one leg grew difficult. She had to force herself not to wobble. The duke seemed unaware of her condition.

“I would not want you to misunderstand, however. I will not allow you to have affairs, if that is part of being a woman of the world in your mind.”

“I know that is out of the question until your succession is secured. I am not unschooled in how things are done.”

“You should not count on my allowing it even after I have my heir, Lydia. I am sorry if that is an unexpected surprise.”

Since his attention was more on her body than her face, she trusted he did not see anything to reflect her thoughts. She did not much care for his talk of allowing this or that, or not. Surely he knew that if she fell in love, she probably would not deny herself any more than he would.

It might be wise to mention that now, rather than accept this little rule he had just made. A retort formed in her mind. Then he looked up at her, and her mind emptied.

Tiny fires showed in his chestnut eyes. The natural severity of his face tightened, but not in an expression of anger. His gaze probed in a way that left her dumbstruck and trembling.

The linen fell from his hands, but the caress did not stop. Deliciously warm, subtly rough, unmistakably possessive, his hands moved over her leg and thigh. The stirring thrummed, rising to a focused vibration whenever his hands moved high under the drape of her towel.

Warmth suffused her, as if a strong fire burned in the fireplace. A small thought broke through her amazement, that an innocent should be afraid of this, and embarrassed. A part of her was both those things, but she could not look away, and the fear itself possessed a compelling excitement.

His caress stopped. She thought perhaps he intended to now dry the other leg. She doubted she would be able to keep her balance if he did that.

Instead he reached up to where she held the linen in her hands. Instinctively she clutched even tighter.

“Let go of it now, Lydia.”

She did not willfully obey, but her hold loosened anyway. He took the edges from her grasp and let the towel drop.

She did not look at herself, but awareness of her exposure teased at that stirring until it quivered and moved like something alive. Her foot still rested on his knee, and she wondered if he could see that which she had never seen herself. The notion did not shock her too much. She was beyond that.

He caressed again, up the outside of that leg, all the way until his fingertips slid over her hip to her waist. His other hand did the same on her other leg, like he outlined her on both sides, until his hands closed on her waist and held her. He leaned forward and kissed her stomach.

Bolts of delicious sensation shot from that kiss. To her extremities and her heart, and down low to where the stirring continued its erotic churn.

He stood and embraced her. Covered by him, she felt no less exposed. If anything she became more naked as she pressed the hardness of his body and his clothes rasped her skin. Even the kiss stripped her more, calling as it did to the physical responses that she could not control.

Vulnerable but safe. Awake yet dreaming. Alive, so alive, so aware of details and nuances, but also dazed beyond comprehension, she could only follow and accept. Kisses on her neck left her gasping. The power of a new, invasive kiss, astonished her. The way his hands moved over her back and then her bottom startled and delighted. Pleasures small and large cascaded, leaving her short of breath. Soon they were all she thought about, and wanting them to continue dominated her instincts just as he seemed to dominate her body and will.

A caress up her side, both luring and controlling, captivated her attention. Tremors rippled in her as she waited for something wonderful. Her essence anticipated what her mind did not know. Higher that warmth came, then around her body until his hand closed on her breast. It felt so good that her whole being sighed. His thumb skimmed the tip, creating a pleasure so mesmerizing that she forgot to breathe.

“You like that,” he muttered into her neck while his mouth added to the wonders. She nodded. Those gentle flicks of touch intensified the pleasure to the point of anguish.

She almost cried an objection when it stopped. A bit of sense seeped back into her mind. Enough to hear him say, “Get into bed now.”

She staggered the few steps there, and climbed up, not thinking about what he did or did not see, or what would happen or would not. His hands closed on her waist again before she lay down, while she was on her hands and knees. He held her there, she knew not why, then kissed the small of her back before releasing her.

She flopped on her back, feeling worldly and sensual, transformed into a goddess by these extraordinary physical discoveries. A bit more sense returned, and she reached for the sheet so she did not appear to lack all modesty. As she stretched to grab its edge, she noticed that Penthurst was undressing.

He noticed her noticing. “I will put out the lamp and candles.” He moved toward one to do so.

“Not on my account. I have seen disrobed men before.”

“Have you now?”

“Oh, yes.” She spoke airily, like the woman of the world she truly had become in the last fifteen minutes.

He continued with his shirt. “When was this?”

She pondered that, her memory skipping through the fog mostly occupying her head. “Not so long ago. I was of age if that is what you mean.”

“I was not aware there was an age when unmarried women start looking at naked men. I wonder how I missed that social rule.”

“Not all women. Only sophisticated ones.”

“You mean women of the world, like you.” He pulled off his shirt and in a minute he was naked to the waist. She stared, fascinated. How interesting male bodies were. His looked lean and hard and defined. And suddenly more powerful. Compared with his height and his strength, she would be small and weak. A bit of misgiving seeped into her confidence.

“Were you alone with him?”

She realized with a startle what he was asking her. “Oh, it was not—it was an accident, you see. I chanced upon them—”

“
Them
?”

“Uh—two of them, swimming.”

“Such things are unavoidable, I expect. You immediately left, I assume.”

Immediately had been an unfortunate choice of word. “I quickly left, yes.”

He sat on the edge of the bed and continued pulling off clothes. “Did they know you saw them?”

“I am not sure. Probably not. Cassandra said most likely not.” An outright lie. Cassandra had said no such thing.

He turned his head and looked at her. “Lady Ambury was with you?”

Oh, dear. “We were riding together and we chanced upon this spot where people swim and she made every effort to protect me from seeing more than a glimpse.” All true, but not completely accurate. “It was nothing, really. Just a moment of surprise, then it was over.”

“Not really nothing, if you find the notion of an unclothed man normal and not shocking. I am relieved. I had worried about your delicate sensibilities. Since you are not only a woman of the world by your own accounting, but an experienced one in such matters, I will not concern myself with the lamps or anything else.”

He stood on those words and turned around, totally naked.

At which point she did what she should have done, but did not do, when she chanced upon those swimmers. She covered her eyes with her hand.

 • • • 

S
o much for the sophisticated woman of the world.

Lydia sat all huddled again, her knees up to her chin and her hand firmly pressing her eyes. He glanced down at what had made her cry out. An arousal of prime proportions stood at attention.

Patience. Patience
. The litany had been chanting in his head all day, reminding him that despite her age and her claims of sophistication, she was not an experienced woman but an innocent, with all that meant.

He lay down beside her under the sheet. “Come here.” He gathered her into his arms and pried her hand from her eyes. “My apologies, but you said—”

“The back. I saw them from the back.”

“A small but significant omission from your story.”

She set her head on his shoulder. The softness of her breast pressed his side. The scent of her filled his head. “I hate that I reacted like a child. You must think I am tedious.”

“Not at all.” He doubted she would want to hear what he did think of her. That she was sensual by nature, easily aroused, and probably not too constrained by notions of proper and improper acts.

She rose up on her arm and looked down at the sheet that covered him, and the clear evidence of his erection beneath it. “This is going to end badly, isn’t it? I am going to wish it had been a bad tooth that needed pulling instead.”

He hoped not, but it was not something to talk about. Nor did he want to talk about anything else. He caressed up her back, then eased her back down beside him. “If you allow yourself to enjoy the pleasure, I do not think it will end so badly as you fear. I will try not to hurt you.”

Her color rose. Her lids lowered. He noticed for the first time how thick her eyelashes were, and how dark. He kissed each lid, then her soft cheek, then her lips.

Immediately he hardened even more. Images entered his head, erotic ones of the pleasures he took with women who really were sophisticated, but which he would not know tonight. He would make sure she experienced desire, however, so she did not shrink from him whenever he reached for her in the future.