The Bedding Proposal Part 18

"Ah, ah," he warned softly. "I told you not to move. Your ankle, remember?"

But she hadn't, she realized. She'd forgotten all about her sprain, his touch so enthralling it had driven everything else from her mind.

She forced herself to lie still, biting her lip as she waited for him to continue.

"Good girl," he said. "I believe you deserve a reward."

Slowly, he opened her, parting her like the petals of a flower as he slipped inside. Delving steadily, he eased in one long finger, first to the knuckle, then as far as it would go.

A cry burst from her lips as her inner muscles clenched around him in welcome.

But even that wasn't enough.

She needed more. And he knew it-the devil.

With a smile that rivaled Mephistopheles himself, he waited, watching as they both felt her body grow even slicker around him.

He stirred his finger inside her, circling as he ma.s.saged her inner flesh in the most astonis.h.i.+ng way. He slid his finger out, then in again to stroke her anew.

Her nipples tightened, throbbing along with the rest of her. As if sensing their need, Leo reached out and took one bud between his thumb and forefinger. He squeezed, ripples of half pleasure, half pain cascading through her as he fingered her harder between her thighs.

Without warning, he added a second digit, filling her, stretching her so that she trembled and moaned.

"Ah, G.o.d!" she cried, everything narrowing in that moment to the sensation of his fingers moving over her and in her. He pinched her nipple again, then fondled her breast. He did the same to her other breast as he continued stroking fast and deep inside her.

Suddenly, he added his thumb below where her most sensitive flesh wept for his every touch and then she started to shake.

Rivers of bliss poured through her, pleasure unlike any she had ever known coursing in rivulets through her veins. Her mind grew dull from the surfeit of delight.

Then everything went utterly and completely black.

Leo watched Thalia take her release and thought it was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.

She is magnificent.

Her skin was flushed and rosy, her lips parted on a sigh of blissful satisfaction, her eyes closed, lashes inky black against the creamy glow of her cheeks. She looked disheveled and well pleasured, and he should know, since he was the one who had pleasured her.

As for him, his shaft was swollen and throbbing, aching to be as thoroughly appeased as she. But much as he wanted to unb.u.t.ton his trousers and slide between her milky white thighs to take his ease, he knew she was in much too delicate a state to withstand such vigorous play. He'd pushed the limits as it was-her injured ankle somehow still miraculously tucked in its nest of plush pillows, apparently no worse for their amorous activities.

For now, he needed to let her heal-let himself heal for that matter, since the st.i.tches in his arm had been tugged and tested enough for one night.

But this was only the beginning. And considering how long he'd already waited, he supposed he could wait a while longer. Especially now that he'd had a taste of her honey.

Lord, she was sweet.

And responsive.

Though strangely, he had to wonder as he watched her doze lazily against the pillows, how s.e.xually experienced she really was.

She wasn't a virgin, of course; that much was clear. Yet she'd seemed so surprised by her reactions to his touch, dawning amazement sweeping over her features as he'd carefully built her desire to greater and greater heights. It was as if tonight was the first time she'd ever truly been aroused. The first time she'd ever found real completion.

If that was true, her former husband must have been a complete lout in the bedchamber. Then again, far too many men were dreadful lovers, concerned for nothing but their own selfish pleasure. When he made love to a woman, he always made sure she claimed as great a share of the satisfaction as he did himself.

He'd lost his own virginity at sixteen to a very experienced, very adventurous widow who'd taught him well the importance of taking care of a bedmate's needs. Increasing his lover's pleasure, he'd learned, inevitably served to increase his own.

He'd put those skills to excellent use in the years since he and his widow had gone their separate ways. He rarely thought of her now-she'd remarried and gone to India, last he'd heard-but he owed her a debt of grat.i.tude for tutoring him so expertly.

Perhaps she was the reason he still preferred older women?

He studied Thalia again, her features ethereally lovely in repose.

What a puzzle she was. A beautiful, mysterious conundrum that demanded to be solved. The longer he knew her, the less about her he really understood.

"Who are you, Thalia?" he whispered, reaching out to brush a wisp of dark hair off her cheek.

She sighed and rolled her head toward him, still asleep.

He wished he could strip off his clothes and climb into the bed beside her. But tonight was not the night.

Soon.

Very soon he would come to her bed, now that they were lovers. And she would find herself satisfied again-well and often.

With gentle efficiency, he smoothed her nightgown down her legs and b.u.t.toned her bodice over the glorious b.r.e.a.s.t.s he had so enjoyed kissing and fondling. His fingers slowed briefly as he forced himself to fasten the last one before all his good intentions turned to dust.

He stood and reached for the bedclothes, pulling them up to her chin to tuck her in once more. Bending low, he brushed a soft kiss over her lips.

"Leo? Is that you?" she murmured, stirring beneath the sheets.

"Yes." He stroked his hand over her hair. "Sleep. I shall see you tomorrow."

"Tomorrow," she repeated sleepily, her eyelids already drifting closed again.

Smiling, he allowed himself one last look, then turned and left.

Chapter 16.

Thalia awakened the next morning with a smile on her face.

She'd slept deeply. Peacefully. Better than she had in too long to remember.

And the dreams.

She'd had the most amazingly wonderful dreams. Lush and vivid and so intense they'd almost seemed real.

Lord Leo had been in them, kissing her and doing all manner of other things that made the blood turn hot in her veins to remember. Things that made her imagination run wild even now.

In response, her nipples tightened into hard peaks, feeling unusually sensitive as they rubbed against the fine wool of her nightgown. And between her legs came a languorous, liquid ache as if her flesh were reliving the delirious sensation of his fingers stroking her deep inside. Stroking her to a pleasure she'd never experienced before.

Her eyes popped open. Good G.o.d, it hadn't been a dream.

Where was Lord Leo now?

Was he still here?

She sat up abruptly and looked around for him.

As she did, a jab of pain shot through her injured ankle. "Oh," she groaned, sinking back against the pillows again.

Her ankle.

She'd forgotten all about it, exactly as she had last night after Lord Leopold carried her to bed.

She covered her eyes with her hands now as all the rest of the memories flooded back over her. So much for her firm resolve. One simple dinner in her sitting room and she'd been as malleable as clay, letting him touch her with an intimacy that had rocked her to her core.

Despite all the supposed evidence to the contrary, she'd been with only one man in her life. Gordon. The husband who had used and manipulated her. Who had disgraced and ruined her with a cruelty she could scarcely bear to contemplate even now.

After last night, she realized he had done her an even greater wrong, convincing her that she was incapable of pa.s.sion, unable to derive pleasure from the physical side of her nature. But now she knew he'd lied to her on that score as well.

Because of Leo.

Because he'd shown her there could be more than dutiful subjugation at the hands of a man.

Even so, she wasn't sure what she wanted. Was she ready to let things go further between her and Leo? Did she want to accept him into her life, into her body? She knew it was what he wanted, what he would expect, after everything they'd shared last night.

Yet still she hesitated.

Her life was her own now, for good or bad. Did she want to change that? Did she want to become what Society claimed her to be-a wanton woman?

Up to now, she'd had her pride to carry her through the rough times, even if she was the only one who knew the truth about her virtue. But if she took Lord Leo to her bed, what then? And how would she feel after their affair ran its inevitable course and came to an end?

She was still contemplating the situation when her maid arrived with breakfast. She bade her enter, grateful for the interruption.

Bathed, dressed and fed two hours later, she allowed her maid to help her hobble over to the sofa in her sitting room.

To her pleased surprise, she'd found her ankle greatly improved with most of the swelling gone and only a bit of bruising and soreness remaining. Lord Leo's doctoring skills were apparently as good as he'd claimed. Even so, she wasn't well enough to resume her usual activities. She settled comfortably onto the sofa instead, wrapped up in a warm shawl with a good book in hand.

She'd been reading for nearly an hour when a knock sounded at her door.

It was Fletcher.

"Pardon the interruption, milady," he said, "but a caller has arrived."

Lord Leopold.

She laid her book onto her lap, curious flutters springing to life in her stomach. She'd known he would visit her, but she'd thought he would at least wait until after the noon hour. "Yes, Fletcher. Please show him up."

"Lady Cathcart is the visitor, ma'am," he explained with no outward acknowledgment that he'd noticed her a.s.sumption that the caller was Lord Leopold. "I put her ladys.h.i.+p in the downstairs drawing room. I wasn't certain if you were receiving today due to your injury."

"Tilly's here?" Her nerves at seeing Leo vanished. "Yes, of course. Show her up immediately. And bring tea. And sweets. Lady Cathcart never drinks tea without a sweet."

Fletcher smiled. "Very good, milady."

Thalia marked her page, set her book aside and waited for her friend, awash with an entirely different sort of antic.i.p.ation from before.

"Fletcher says you are hurt," Mathilda Cathcart declared without preamble as she crossed over the threshold on a rustle of elegant dark apricot taffeta skirts. "You poor dear, whatever has happened?"

As blond as Thalia was dark, and as slender and graceful as a willow branch, Mathilda Cathcart was the epitome of everything feminine and lovely. She moved quickly across to the sofa, arms outstretched. "No, no, don't get up."

Bending low, Mathilda wrapped her in a warm embrace, then dusted each cheek with a quick, friendly kiss. Her mother, being half-French, had pa.s.sed along certain Continental traits to her daughter growing up. And despite the best efforts of her stern English grandmother and her often absent father, Mathilda still clung to a few of her supposed "foreign flaws."

Thalia smiled at her friend and returned her hug. "What a wonderful surprise," she said as Mathilda moved away and sank down into a nearby chair. "But what are you doing here? I thought you were at Lambton until after the holidays."

"Oh, I was, but the house party broke up last week and the place has been frightfully dull ever since. When Henry said he was coming up to London on some parliamentary business, I decided to come too."

"What excuse did you give this time? Or does he even know you're visiting me?"

"He thinks I'm shopping, but as his mother always says, what he doesn't know won't hurt him," Mathilda said, drawing off her gloves. "We all have our little secrets, after all."

Thalia's brows drew close, thinking she detected a thread of strain in her friend's voice.

The two of them had known each other since age eighteen, when they'd both been nervous debutantes embarking on their first London Season. Sensing kindred spirits, they had formed a swift, strong bond of friends.h.i.+p that had withstood their subsequent marriages, the births of Mathilda's three children and-most telling of all-the ravages of Thalia's divorce.

Mathilda's support had never wavered, not once, not even in the face of the most salacious testimony during the divorce proceedings. She'd known that Thalia was the wronged party, whatever had been publicly reported. She'd never even asked for an explanation, although Thalia had told her all the most important parts-the ones that made a difference anyway.

Thalia studied Mathilda. "Tilly, is anything wrong?"

"Wrong? Of course not," Mathilda replied in a not entirely convincing tone. "But what are we doing talking about me when you are the one ailing? What happened to take you off your feet?"

"Nothing so very dreadful," Thalia said, deciding she could wait until later to probe deeper into whatever was troubling her friend. "It's rather silly really. My bootheel broke and I sprained my ankle."

"Oh, how awful. Did you fall? Are you hurt otherwise?"

"No, someone was there to catch me before I could do any serious damage."

"Someone?" Mathilda's blue eyes twinkled with sudden interest. "Someone who?"

"No one you know," Thalia said, realizing her mistake in mentioning that particular detail. "Oh, look, here comes the tea."

Fletcher made his slow, careful way inside, providing a distraction at just the right moment.