The Bride Hunt (21 page)

Prudence sat on the bed and undid the buttons. She slid her hand into the opening and drew out his penis. It sprang up against her hand. With a little frown of concentration she explored the feel of it, reaching beneath to find his balls. She had never explored a man’s body in any detail before, outside the anatomical pictures in the pages of a medical encyclopedia or Greek statues in the British Museum. Her only previous experience of sex had been too quick for such intimacies. She enclosed his penis in her hand, experimented with tightening and loosening her grip. She heard Gideon groan and then he reached down, took her wrist, and removed her hand.

He took a deep breath, murmured, “Let’s take this slowly, sweetheart.” He sat up, still holding her hand.

“I was enjoying myself,” she said.

“So was I. But I’d like to share this first time.” He stood up and pushed the undergarment off his hips and kicked his feet free. “Your turn now.”

Prudence gazed at the long, lean length of him. For a man who spent his days studying law books and pontificating in a courtroom, he had a remarkably athletic body—muscled thighs, a flat belly, hard biceps. She put her hands on his narrow hips, running her thumbs over the sharp pelvic bones. A glow of excitement and pleasure spread through her. She slid her hands around to his backside, her fingers pressing hard into the taut flesh. “You have a beautiful body,” she murmured, lightly touching her tongue to his nipples. “You could have modeled for Michelangelo.”

Gideon looked startled. “I’m not sure that’s a compliment.”

“I think it is,” she said, grazing his nipples with the tips of her front teeth.

“Then I’m suitably complimented . . . I think.” He began to unpin her hair as her head remained bent against his chest. He tossed the pins in the direction of the dresser, heedless of those that missed and fell to the floor. He combed his fingers through the wavy russet mass as it fell to her shoulders and down her back. Then he cupped her face in his hands and tilted it up. He bent and kissed her eyes and said softly, “I need to see you now.”

She nodded and slid the opened chemise off her shoulders. It fell to her hips, and Gideon dropped to one knee, hooking his fingers into the tops of her drawers. He pulled them down slowly, inch by inch, his lips trailing kisses over her belly, over the creamy flesh of her thighs thus revealed. She stepped out of the puddle of taffeta and lace and lifted her feet as he removed her shoes, then unfastened her garters and peeled off her stockings.

Still kneeling, he ran his hands up the backs of her legs to clasp the soft cheeks of her bottom. “That feels good,” he murmured with a smile of satisfaction, kneading the silky roundness. He kissed the base of her belly, then slid his hands around to press apart her thighs.

Prudence quivered at the intimate exploration, the deep recesses of her body moistening, opening. She felt laid bare, more naked than she was, and she reveled in the feeling, her feet shifting on the wooden floor as she parted her thighs yet farther in mute encouragement as passion surged. She clasped his head, pressing it against her belly, her fingers raking through his hair. A wave of delight was building deep in her loins, swelling into a racing breaker. She bit down on her bottom lip, her fingers curling tightly in his hair as the wave crested and broke. She heard herself cry out. Her knees shook uncontrollably. Gideon stood up, holding her against him until she’d regained her balance.

“Oh,” was all she could manage to say. “Oh.”

He smiled down at her and kissed her damp forehead. “So passionate,” he said softly, turning her towards the bed, taking the opportunity to run his eyes hungrily down her back, narrow and elegant, the nip of her waist, the flare of her hips, the curve of her backside, the long, clean sweep of her thighs.

Prudence fell on the bed, rolling onto her back, opening her arms to him. She was filled with an urgent need to share this pleasure with him. He knelt above her and she raised her legs, curling them around to press her heels into his buttocks. “Come,” she demanded.
“Now.”

“At your service, madam,” he said. “In just one second.” She watched as he slipped a rubber sheath over his penis. Vaguely she wondered if he always carried them with him, but it seemed an irrelevant thought as he slid within her still-pulsating body and she tightened her inner muscles around him, glorying in the feeling as he filled her, pressing deep within her.

He looked down at her and she smiled up at him, her light green eyes alive with pleasure. “Don’t move, sweet,” he said. “I want to make this last, but I’m so close to the brink.”

“You call the tune,” she replied, stretching her arms way above her head in a gesture of abandonment that was so sensual, he inhaled sharply, clinging desperately to the last threads of self-control. He withdrew slowly, then as slowly sheathed himself within her again. She gasped, her eyes closing, her belly tightening as the wave began to build once more.

He withdrew again, closing his own eyes, holding himself on the very edge of her body, then with a soft cry he drove hard and deep to the very edge of her womb, and her body convulsed around him as his penis throbbed and pulsed within her.

He fell upon her with a groan, crushing her breasts so that she could feel the rapid beating of his heart, so close to her own. She clasped his sweat-slick back, lay still until her breathing slowed and her heartbeat returned to normal.

Gideon stirred and rolled off her. He lay on his back, one hand resting on her belly, the other flung above his head. “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph,” he murmured. “You are miraculous, Miss Duncan.”

“You’re not so bad yourself, Sir Gideon,” she returned with an effort. “Now I really won’t die wondering.”

He turned his head slowly to look at her. “What does that mean?”

She merely smiled and closed her eyes. She certainly knew now what had been missing in the past. And although she would never have admitted it to herself before, she had been just a little envious of Constance, who obviously found nothing missing in the realms of passion with Max. The smile was still on her face when she plunged into a deep and dreamless sleep.

She awoke an hour later to the sound of soft voices coming from the doorway. Lazily she propped herself on one elbow and looked towards the door. Gideon, in a dressing gown, was talking to someone in the corridor outside. She flopped back on the pillows, realizing that without disturbing her sleep Gideon had managed to pull back the covers and somehow insert her between the sheets.

The voices ceased and the door closed. Prudence struggled up against the pillows, holding the sheet up to her neck. “Where did the dressing gown come from?” It was a particularly elegant garment of brocaded silk and didn’t look as if it formed part of the guest supplies of this hostelry.

“I brought it with me.” He picked up the small valise that she now remembered noticing earlier.

“You mean you planned for this?” she demanded, not at all sure that she liked the idea that he had set out that morning completely prepared for seduction. Condom and all.

He shook his head. “You’re so suspicious, my sweet. No, I did not plan for
this.
I’ve spent most of the day trying to overcome our mutual dislike. But I am a motoring enthusiast, as you probably realized.”

“More of a fanatic, I would have said.”

“Yes, well we won’t quibble about the degree of my enthusiasm.” He was opening the valise as he spoke. “However, as an experienced motorist, I know that even the most reliable vehicle can strand one in the most inconvenient circumstances on a long drive, so I’m always prepared.” He took out a silk garment and shook out the folds. “This is for you.”

He laid the garment on the bed. It was a dressing gown of emerald green Chinese silk, beautifully embroidered with deep blue peacocks.

Prudence fingered it. “It’s lovely, but we have to go home straightaway.”

“No,” he said. “We have to have dinner straightaway. Roast duck, if you remember.”

She pushed aside the covers, casting an agitated glance at the clock on the mantel. It was close to nine-thirty. “Gideon, I have to get back. My family will be worried out of their minds.”

“No, they won’t,” he said with that calm assertive confidence that so often put her back up. Not this evening, though. “Milton knows the uncertainties of motoring, so he was not surprised to be told that if we had not returned by ten o’clock he should drive to Manchester Square and explain that we had been benighted and would return in the morning.”

She stared at him, still with some degree of incomprehension. “But what about the morning? It’s Monday, don’t you have to go to work?”

“My first appointment is at noon. We’ll leave early and we’ll be back in plenty of time.”

Prudence lay back again and pulled the covers up. “Is there any detail you’ve missed?”

“I don’t believe so,” he returned rather smugly. “I have hairbrush, toothbrush, tooth powder, and a nightgown for you. Although,” he added, regarding her consideringly, “I doubt you’ll need the latter.”

“Perhaps not,” she agreed. “If we’re going to eat roast duck, shouldn’t we dress and go downstairs?”

“No, we’re going to eat in here. It seems like too much effort to go downstairs, and they want to close the dining room soon anyway.”

“Ah.” She fingered the dressing gown again. “Then I suppose I’ll get up and put this on.”

“That might be a good idea,” he agreed. “The bathroom is right opposite. I don’t think anyone else is staying on this corridor, so we don’t have to share it.”

Prudence put on the robe, tying the girdle at her waist tightly. “Did you say something about a hairbrush?”

“I did, but I’d like to do that myself. There’s something about your hair that drives me wild.” He came up to her, tilting her chin on his forefinger and kissing the corner of her mouth.

She merely smiled and padded barefoot to the door. The bathroom was small but contained the necessities: a claw-footed tub, a basin, and a water closet. Prudence began to draw a bath and while the water was running twisted her hair into a knot on top of her head and returned to the bedroom. “What happened to the hairpins?”

Gideon took a handful off the dresser and stuck them judiciously into the piled mass. “Would you like company in the bath?”

“It’s very small,” she said doubtfully.

“We could wash each other’s back.”

“Irresistible.” She reached up and caressed his cheek, observing with a smile, “You’re stubbly.”

“Five o’clock shadow,” he said. “I usually shave in the evening as well as the morning.”

“I rather like it,” she said. “It adds a certain something . . . a
je ne sais quoi
. It gives you a more rugged look.”

He bent and rubbed his cheek gently against hers. “You prefer rugged to smooth, then?”

“Depends,” she said. “On circumstances. I must get the bath before it overflows.”

He followed her into the bathroom, watching her cast aside the dressing gown, stand for a minute naked, aware of his gaze, offering herself to it, before she stepped into the bath.

“There really isn’t enough room for two.”

“Nonsense,” he said, throwing off his own dressing gown and stepping into the bath at the opposite end. Water slurped over the edge as he struggled to sit down, drawing his knees up to his chin to fit.

Prudence pushed her feet under his backside and wriggled her toes. He grabbed her ankles and water cascaded over the edge of the bath onto the wooden floor.

“Stop that,” he said, squeezing her ankles. “It’ll leak through the floor to the ceiling below in a minute.”

“I told you it was too small for two.” She leaned against the back of the tub, still idly wriggling her toes against his nether parts.

Gideon heaved himself to his feet, sending a further wave of water onto the floor, and stepped out. He grabbed a towel from the rail and threw it into the puddle to soak up the mess. “I’ll shave instead,” he said, returning to the bedroom for his razor and strop.

Prudence soaped herself lazily, enjoying the intimacy of their shared ablutions. It had a wonderfully sensual undercurrent, one that built on the glory of their earlier lovemaking, somehow solidified it, while creating a delicious surge of anticipation. Her toes curled and she moved the soapy washcloth to her thighs . . . and between them, idly visiting the sites of her earlier pleasure.

“Would you like some help there?”

The quiet voice made her jump, and her eyes, that she hadn’t realized were closed, flew open. Gideon stood at the side of the bath, his own eyes darkened to a charcoal gray as they watched her.

“No, thank you,” Prudence said with as much dignity as she could muster. “We’ve already proved the bath is no place for games.”

He laughed and reached for a dry towel. He unfolded it and held it invitingly. “Out. Otherwise I’ll begin to feel superfluous.”

She stood up in a shower of drops and stepped out, trying to think of a snappy response to the statement and failing utterly. He wrapped the towel around her and then stepped into the bathwater.

Prudence dried herself vigorously, shrugged into the Chinese silk robe, and left him in the bath. In the bedroom she saw that a table had been set in front of the fire, with an already opened bottle of Pouilly-Fuissé, a basket of hot rolls, a dish of butter. She poured the wine into the two glasses and sat at the table, breaking open a roll, spreading butter thickly. Sex seemed to stimulate the appetite.

Gideon came back as she took the first sip of the wine. “Is it good?”

“Delicious. Haven’t you tasted it?”

“No, but the landlord has made sure it’s not corked.” He took the seat opposite her. His hair was wet and Prudence noticed with some amusement that when wet it had a springly curl to it. It was rather frivolous, not at all suited to the fearsomely intimidating barrister she had first met.

A knock at the door heralded two waiters, who placed a three-tiered stand piled high with shellfish on the table. “Oysters, Sir Gideon, clams, cockles, shrimp, lobster claws, winkles, and smoked mussels,” one of the waiters intoned, pointing with a fastidious forefinger as he listed the offerings.