Regency Rogues: Talk Of The Ton

Chapter Fourteen

‘Felicity!’

The sharp command penetrated Felicity’s panic and she stilled.

‘If I had wanted to spy on you in your bath, I could have done so,’ Richard said. ‘However, I did, as you will recall, knock at the door.’

He sounded amused, but was that also a hint of exasperation in his tone? Felicity peeked over her shoulder. He was in the open doorway, shoulders propped against the jamb, arms folded across his chest. He smiled at her, shaking his head.

‘I am not your enemy, Felicity. I did not intend to scare you. I met Mrs Jakeway on her way to fetch your supper and I came to see if you required any help.’

His voice and his words were patient and soothing, much as one might speak to a horse set into a panic. Had she overreacted? From Richard’s point of view, no doubt she had done exactly that. They were man and wife. And yet...and yet...

‘Thank you.’ Her voice croaked and she coughed. ‘I believe I can manage.’

‘Shall I pass you a towel?’

‘I am not yet ready, thank you. I have not finished washing.’ Truth be told, she had yet to begin.

‘I shall ask again, in that case. Would you like me to wash your back for you? I can avert my eyes, if it will make you easier.’

‘I don’t...’ Felicity’s voice failed.

‘You don’t trust me? Very well.’

There was a rustle and a muffled grunt behind her. Felicity risked another glance over her shoulder. Richard held her gaze as he tugged his neckcloth from around his neck. Oh, my goodness. Surely he is not...? He closed the door and held the neckcloth out, grinning.

‘Here. You can tie this around my eyes so I cannot cheat.’

A squirm of heat snaked from the pit of her belly to the juncture of her thighs and she felt her nipples harden. Heavens. If the mere thought of him being close to her naked body could prompt such a reaction, how would it feel to lie together?

The water sloshed around the bath as Felicity sat up. She hugged her knees close to her chest. ‘Very well.’ This time, her voice squeaked. From a frog to a mouse, she thought wildly, clamping down the urge to laugh, certain it would sound hysterical were she to allow it to escape.

Richard shrugged out of his coat, and knelt by the bathtub, presenting his back. He lifted the neckcloth to cover his eyes and then reached behind his head to offer the ends to Felicity. She grasped them and tied a firm knot. He swivelled round to face her, and rolled up his sleeves. Felicity eyed his hair-roughened arms with hungry fascination. They were sinewy and lightly tanned—so different from her own pale, thin limbs.

‘Hand me the soap, Felicity.’

His voice was husky. He reached out, palm up, and Felicity gave him the soap. Then he groped for, and found, her back and she saw his lips stretch into a sensual smile. Excitement spiralled through her body and her heart pounded as he began to stroke, his hand gliding over her wet, soapy skin.

‘So very delicate,’ he murmured, running one finger down her spine.

Her lids drifted shut as Richard lathered her back, fingers spread, palm flat and gentle as he traced her ribcage around, under her arm, until the tips of his fingers rested against the gentle swell of her breast.

‘Relax.’ The whisper danced across her moist skin, raising gooseflesh.

Relax? How could she relax? She wanted...she needed...she did not know what she wanted, aware only that her mind was at war with her body.

She heard him move, and his lips were on her hair. They traced a path to her ear and, with the tip of his tongue, he outlined the shell before soft lips nibbled at the lobe. Her head tilted, and he trailed warm, open-mouthed kisses down her neck to her collarbone as his hand slid across her torso, brushing the sensitive skin beneath her breasts.

The urge to lie back was strong. Was she really about to succumb to his seduction so readily? But why should she not? If her body could take pleasure in his lovemaking, why should she not relax and enjoy it? It did not mean she must relinquish her heart.

Her sigh murmured as she relaxed back, her thighs parting of their own volition. He could not see her. He had all the experience. Let him teach her of the pleasures of the flesh.

‘Give me your hand.’

He pressed a kiss to her palm before washing her arm from wrist to shoulder, his touch gentle, mouth firm with concentration. As his hand moved across her chest, Felicity closed her eyes. He soaped each breast in turn, kneading. Her back arched, pressing into his touch, an unusual sensation tugging deep inside. Long sweeps of his hand soaped down the side of her body, along her ribcage, over the jut of her hip and down the length of her thigh. She drifted in a sensual haze, aware only of his touch, as he raised each leg in turn to soap them before lowering them back into the water. He lifted her foot, stroking the instep until her foot arched. Each toe in turn was enveloped by warm lips, and sucked gently.

A breathy groan sounded loud in the quiet of the room. Hers. Felicity tensed.

‘Ssssshhhhh, relax.’ The soothing murmur hung in the air and her body responded.

A large hand circled her stomach, the pressure increasing fractionally each time it neared the triangle of curls at the apex of her thighs. Her need climbed. His hand drifted up again, skimming around her breasts, barely touching the peaked, aching nipples. Despite the cooling water, Felicity’s blood pumped hot. Then he took one nipple between finger and thumb and rolled it, gently tugging. Desire streaked through her, setting her blood aflame, and she shifted restlessly.

His lips were on her face again, feathery, butterfly-light kisses caressing her skin as his hand slid over her belly again to slip between her legs, caressing and probing the swollen folds. Her body arched, pressing into his touch. He stroked, and she whimpered.

Then Richard leaned towards her. ‘Kiss me.’ A request, not a demand.

Dreamily she half-rose from the water and met his lips. Soft, searching, sensual, his kiss inflamed her further. It was exquisite but it was not enough. Not nearly enough. She wanted passion. She needed passion...and she needed...need.

His need.

She wanted him to feel the same urgency that gripped her. She cupped his face in her hands and took control. He started in surprise, then responded and deepened the kiss, his tongue sweeping between her parted lips. She wound her arms around his neck, urging him on wordlessly. One arm swept around her, half-lifting her, moulding her wet, naked body to him.

The fine lawn of his shirt did nothing to shield her from the heat of his skin. Felicity tangled her fingers through his hair, her fingertips exploring the solid strength of his skull. She hesitated over the knot in the neckcloth that still covered his eyes, but she did not loosen it. She felt a strange kind of power, being naked with this man, this stranger, with him unable to see. She need not feel shame, or doubt, or inadequacy. She could just enjoy. For the moment.

Her thighs opened wider as his fingers caressed and stroked the sensitive flesh between. Her head fell back as she abandoned herself to the sensations that whirled and intensified inside her until she felt she would shatter if she didn’t move, and shatter if she did. She trembled as hot lips nibbled the delicate skin of her neck then froze momentarily as Richard’s finger circled her entrance and dipped inside. Goodness. His finger slid full length inside her, withdrew, and was joined by another and Felicity abandoned herself to pleasure.

As his fingers began to move Felicity kissed him again, clinging as she urged him on. His tongue and his fingers joined in rhythm, driving Felicity on, spiralling ever higher. He pressed lightly with his thumb and she gasped, the sound swallowed within the joining of their lips. All thought suspended as her spiralling passion wound tighter and tighter. She reached and reached, yearning, straining.

‘Let it come, sweetheart.’ The whisper barely registered but the gathering, squeezing sensation at her very core climbed...building...building...until it peaked, exploding in wave after pulsing wave of pure ecstasy.

Strong arms swept her out of the water and Felicity was dimly aware of being cradled like a baby as Richard stood up. Her eyes stayed tight shut as she clung to his neck. He was moving—striding—across the room. His eyes could no longer be covered. Even as the final waves throbbed at her core, she shivered, cringing, as her mind caught up with reality. A door clicked open then banged shut.

A peep through her lashes confirmed they were in her bedchamber. The bed loomed large, dominating her restricted view. What would he do now? She could barely take in what had just happened to her. She had never imagined—how could she?—such ecstasy could exist. And now...would he want to take his own pleasure with her, straight away? She had a vague idea of what would happen—shortly before she died, Emma had confided her shame and heartbreak at having been seduced and abandoned by the man she loved. Nausea mushroomed from Felicity’s chest into her throat. She swallowed convulsively, banishing all thoughts of her sister, focusing her attention on to her husband.

Chapter Fifteen

Richard moved again and heat from the flames caressed her skin. Slowly, he released her, her damp skin clinging to the fabric of his shirt as her toes stretched for the floor. He steadied her, his warm hand splayed between her shoulder blades. Then she felt the sweep of a towel across her shoulders and around her back: enveloping her, swaddling her, shielding her from his gaze. She forced open her eyes. He was smiling down at her. Her belly performed a twisty loop and her mouth flooded with saliva.

‘Felicity Joy.’

His voice was a deep, comforting purr. He removed the pins, one by one, from her hair until it flowed loose. He swept her hair from her face, then bent to kiss her still-tingling lips. Her legs quaked and her knees sagged. He chuckled, scooped her up and placed her in one of the chairs by the fire.

Only then did Felicity see the tray of food on the table next to the chairs.

‘You must be hungry,’ he said, sitting in the other chair. ‘I know I am. Come, let us eat.’

‘I thought...I thought...’

‘There is no hurry, sweetheart. We have all night.’

Felicity’s stomach swooped again, and the flesh between her legs pulsed in an echo of pleasure.

‘You have much to get used to, and I wish to discover what pleases you.’ He reached for a plate, and selected a pastry. He leaned forward and held it to her lips. ‘Taste, tell me, help me to learn.’

Does he mean the food, or...? Nerves jangling, she bit into the pastry, and buttery sweetness flooded her mouth: honey, almonds, and a hint of cinnamon.

‘Mmmmm.’ She savoured the sweetmeat as Richard popped the remainder in his own mouth.

They sat by the fire and ate their fill of the bread and cheese, delicate pastries and fruit, washed down with wine. Felicity began to relax, the mundane activity of eating distracting her from what was to come. Eventually, Richard sat back with a sigh, glass in hand, and gazed into the flames. Felicity took the opportunity to study him as the firelight played across his features. He was so very handsome. She felt as though she were in a fairy tale, the handsome prince having whisked her away from her humdrum life. But this was real life, and soon... As though he could hear her thoughts, Richard switched his attention to her, his eyes penetrating, a half smile playing around his sensuous lips.

‘Have you had enough to eat?’

‘Yes. Thank you.’

‘Some more wine?’

Felicity held out her glass, and he filled it, then stood, holding out his hand. As if in a dream, Felicity placed her hand in his. He led her to the bed and took her wine glass, placing it on the bedside table.

He smoothed her hair from her face and pressed warm lips to her temple.

‘I will snuff the candles. You get into bed, and we will drink our wine together, you and I.’

He swept the bedcovers down before crossing to the fireplace to snuff out the candles. Felicity released her grip on the towel and slid into the bed, pulling the covers right up to her chin. The room now in semi-darkness, lit only by the fire, Richard rounded the bed and began to undress. That chest. Broad, tantalizingly sculpted, dusted with dark hair.

He reached for the buttons on his trousers. She groped blindly for her wine glass, hand trembling as she raised it to her lips. The bed dipped as he sat on the edge then bent forward to finish taking off his trousers, his broad back smooth, muscles rippling. Her blood raced around her body, heart thundering in her ears, nipples tight and aching, the flesh between her thighs yearning for his touch.

She put her glass down and reached for him.

A hair’s breadth from the skin of his back, she hesitated, registering the heat of his body as it warmed her palm. Should I? Will he be shocked? Disgusted? The wine made her bold. She splayed her fingers, and placed her hand on his back. He stilled. She waited.

‘It’s all right to explore, Felicity Joy.’ His back vibrated with the deep rumble of his voice. ‘I certainly intend to explore you.’

Her insides quivered. Her fingers trickled down his spine. He did not move. Emboldened, she knelt; crept a little closer; swept both hands up the solid planes of his back until her fingers curved over his shoulders. She kneaded with her thumbs.

‘Aaaaaahh, that feels good. You have magic in your fingers, sweetheart.’ He stretched his torso, rolling his shoulders.

How had he pleasured her? His neck. Shuffling closer still, until the tips of her breasts brushed his back, she pressed her lips to the side of his neck. Musky maleness flooded her senses. She was rewarded by a deep shudder and a quiet groan. She took his earlobe into her mouth and sucked. Then nipped.

‘Ooh. You little...’

Laughing, he turned his head. His lips were inches from hers. Warm, wine-scented breath fanned her skin, raising a frisson of pleasure. She closed the gap, pressing her lips to his, reaching for his chest. Rough hair teased her fingertips as she stroked, fascinated by the difference between his skin and hers. She played with his nipple, and he moaned, deep in his chest. She slicked her tongue over his lips: they parted, tongues met, entwined, withdrew, touched again.

He swung round, took control, cupping her head as he eased her down. He lay beside her, half covering her, as he deepened the kiss. His arousal pressed into her thigh. Felicity closed her eyes, concentrating on what was happening rather than on who was stoking this wonderful, exciting, glorious maelstrom of need. Every other sense was on heightened alert. She luxuriated in his scent: spicy, musky, arousing; the texture of his hair-roughened skin as he moved over her; the moist heat of skin against skin; every inch of her—caressed by skilled fingers and questing tongue—a thousand times more alive than ever before.

‘Touch me, sweetheart.’ His voice was ragged, urgent with need.

She reached, marvelling at the silken skin that slid over his hot, solid length. She closed her fingers, heard his intake of breath, squeezed. His hand covered hers, guiding her even as long fingers penetrated her most intimate place. She arched, whimpering, and then he moved, covering her, easing her thighs wider. She felt the nudge at her entrance, and tensed.

‘Ssssshhh. Relax. It might hurt this first time, but not for long. I promise.’

A steady push, and she stretched, and stretched until she could take no more. He was too big, she was too small, how...?

‘Richaaaard.’

Her protest lost in a cry as he forged into her, the pain sharp, but brief. He lay still. Impaled, she waited. Then he began to move, and the yearning ache grew and grew, radiating out from the place they were joined until every muscle in her body strained to reach the pinnacle that seemed forever just beyond her reach.

Frantic fingers clawed at broad shoulders. Lips kissed and teeth nipped at every inch of skin within reach. Legs wrapped, and held, urging him on. He took her mouth in a searing kiss as he reached between them, and stroked. She flew over that pinnacle in a glorious burst of ecstasy that cascaded through her, shaking her to her core.

He began to move faster, penetrate deeper. Cool air washed between them. She cranked open a weighty eyelid. He was braced up on corded arms, eyes closed, his face a mask of concentration until, with a primal roar, he reached his release. She felt his seed empty into her and he collapsed on to her, rolling a little so as not to crush her, panting. They lay together, his leg straddling hers, arm across her waist. Felicity—tired, sated, content—could have stayed like that all night.

‘Are you all right?’ His breathing had slowed and he caressed her cheek as he spoke.

‘Yes. Of course.’

What should one say, at a time like this? His question dissolved her pleasant haze of exhaustion as the sun disperses early morning mist. Words formed in Felicity’s head, but were dismissed as too trite or too grateful; gushing, even. One could hardly thank one’s husband for... She bit at her lip. Was there an etiquette for such an occasion? She felt awkward and unworldly and stiffened, her eyes screwed shut.

‘Felicity. Look at me. Please.’

She did. Read the compassion in his eyes, but also the laughter that lurked in the background. Well, mayhap he was justified in finding her amusing.

‘There is no need to be embarrassed. Not with me. What we have just done is natural. It is meant to be enjoyable. For us both.’ He smiled, lines radiating out from the corners of his eyes. He kissed her on the forehead, then in one swift movement, he got out of the bed, and turned to tuck her back in. ‘You sleep now. You must be exhausted. I will see you in the morning.’

The bed felt very big, and cold, and empty. Felicity wished he had stayed.

Chapter Sixteen

Felicity awoke with a start. It was early, judging by the light creeping around the edge of the curtains. She lay in bed and relived the day before, fingers twisting the gold band on the third finger of her left hand.

Married.

Well, and was that not what she wanted: a home of her own and a family? Richard was not quite what she had bargained for, but he was what she had. If she only thought of him as a means to an end, surely she could keep her heart safe?

She quivered with the memory of their lovemaking, and her hand crept between her thighs, where her flesh was still tender. Excitement flitted through her veins and her heart leapt at the thought of seeing Stanton...Richard...again.

Determinedly, she settled her thoughts, crushing the bud of happiness attempting to unfurl in her heart. This would never do.

Once she was with child he would continue with his interests and leave her to hers. That was their bargain. She must protect her heart. If she could ensure that intimacies such as last night remained in the bedchamber...would that not suffice?

It would not be easy.

In need of distraction, she threw the covers back, tucked her feet into her slippers and wrapped her shawl around her. Her bedchamber was huge, with three tall windows spaced along the wall opposite the bed. She drew open the curtains to let the light spill in but did not linger at the window. She would explore the gardens of her new home later. Her home. It was strange, knowing she would be living here, yet knowing so little about the place or the people who lived here, not even her husband. A shiver spread across the surface of her skin and she hugged her arms around her body, pulling the shawl tight around her shoulders.

There was a light tap at the door, and it opened to admit a maid, carrying a wooden box.

‘G’morning, milady; I’m sorry your fire wasn’t lit ready for you.’ She cast an anxious look at Felicity.

‘Don’t be troubled, I did wake very early. What is your name?’

‘Tilly, milady.’ The girl, round-faced and pink-cheeked, bobbed a curtsy.

‘Well, Tilly, when you have finished here, could you send up some hot water, please? I should like to get dressed.’

‘Of course, milady.’

Finally alone—fully dressed and ready to face her new life—Felicity paused with her hand on the door handle, butterflies dancing around inside. She turned back and drifted around the room, examining sundry objects, before stopping by the window. In the garden below, a man was raking leaves from the vast expanse of lawn. Beyond the grass, the contours of the land dipped to reveal a glimpse of blue. A lake. The butterflies settled. She could not skulk upstairs all day. A pleasant walk to the lake would be her reward for braving breakfast.

About to turn from the window, a movement caught her eye: Richard, dressed in riding clothes, was striding along the path towards the house. He glanced up, and Felicity jerked away from the window, her pulse skittering as her breath caught.