Chapter 16

Chapter Sixteen

D inner at Abbey Thorne Manor was a leisurely affair. Lord Jasper and Lady Bethany looked as if they'd been drinking the elixir of life, their faces content and glowing in the candlelight. Marissa wondered what they'd been up to while she was in Magna Midcombe, but she didn't ask. Even when a besotted Jasper lifted her grandmother's hand and placed a kiss on it, she thought it best to pretend not to notice Things between them must have reached a new level of intimacy to be so open in their affections. Valentine also politely ignored the obvious, although she saw him giving his friend a quizzical look.

He was also ignoring Marissa and she was beginning to wonder if she'd imagined the intimacies they'd shared. Had Valentine really offered to teach her about pleasure? And had she really agreed?

"Did you know that Lady B was an artist, Kent?" Jasper demanded.

"Indeed I did not," Valentine said evenly. "What sort of artist?"

"I paint," Lady Bethany replied with a little smile. "My daughter and son-in-law wanted someone to make a record of their discoveries, so I have been painting pictures of plants ever since."

"You must ask her to immortalize the Crusader's Rose when you find it!" Jasper seemed unable to keep the grin off his face.

"Of course. When I find it."

The meal finished, Jasper and Lady Bethany went to take a turn about the garden. Marissa wasn't sure if she wanted time alone with Valentine—she needed time to compose herself—but he excused himself, telling her he had some estate business to deal with and that his land manager awaited him. So Marissa enjoyed a rare moment alone, pretending to read one of the novels she found in the bookcase.

In reality she was pondering her situation.

She'd set her sights on George but she'd be a fool not to realize by now that it wasn't thoughts of George keeping her awake at night. Every inch of her being called to Valentine and when he made his offer to her she'd known it was right to accept. She may well be following a path that would lead her astray but nevertheless she had to do it. She had to discover for once and for all whether Valentine was the man for her.

"Are you tired?"

His voice startled her; she hadn't heard him enter.

He was standing in the doorway and she didn't know how long he'd been watching her.

"A little. Why?"

"I had planned a little game, but if you prefer we can leave it until tomorrow."

Something wicked in his eyes caught her attention. A warmth spread through her limbs, and she felt languid in a way that had nothing to do with feeling tired. Marissa laid her book aside. "What little game do you have in mind?"

With a smile, Valentine closed the door behind him and came to join her. "I have been remembering an incident that happened when I was a green youth of eighteen, first exploring London. I've never forgotten it."

"How intriguing." Marissa gave him an encouraging smile.

He sat down and, reaching into his pocket, took out a pair of dice. "I went to a gaming club—not my first, but this one was rather different. I wasn't greatly interested in gaming even then, but some friend or other persuaded me that this club really must be visited at least once if you were to begin to shrug off your country dust and think of yourself as a urbane gentleman of the world."

"And what was so different about this gaming club?"

"There was an area at the back, a room in which guests could play the game of their choice, while others were allowed to watch through a series of discreet and very narrow windows."

"But who were they and why would they want to watch?" Marissa said, and only realized she'd been na?ve when he laughed softly.

"Shall we call them interested spectators?" His blue eyes warmed as he watched her attempting to understand. "Perhaps you will better comprehend if I tell you that the night I visited the club there was a game going on between a gentleman and a lady. They were both masked and she was wearing a dress cut so low I found myself holding my breath in the fear—or should I say the hope?—that her bosom would tumble out of it."

Marissa raised an eyebrow. "So the gentleman and lady were in the room and the rest of you were watching them. What exactly were they doing?"

"They were throwing dice."

"That sounds innocent enough."

"Ah, but whoever lost had to remove an item of clothing." He grinned at the memory. "The spectators were agog, the tension was palpable, and yet the two of them acted as if they were entirely alone even though they must have known they weren't."

"Whoever lost the throw of the dice had to remove an item?" she said slowly. "Did they end up, eh, naked?"

His reminiscent smile grew wicked. "Oh yes."

Marissa waited for him to elaborate and when he didn't she asked with an impatient note, "And then what happened?"

Valentine made her wait a moment more. "Not what we hoped. He lifted her up in his arms and carried her into a farther room, unfortunately, one without windows, and shut the door."

Marissa imagined the scene; she'd discovered she had a rather vivid imagination when it came to risqué detail. The idea of undressing, slowly, in front of dozens of watching eyes should have horrified her, and indeed if it was actually happening she was sure she would hate it, but to pretend was different. She pictured the room, Valentine and herself opposite each other, the atmosphere tense with expectation and the knowledge that soon they would consummate their growing desire. Consummate it fully and completely, as they were yet to do . . .

His fingers brushed her cheek, breaking the spell.

"What are you thinking, minx?"

"I am wondering why you are telling me this story. And why," she looked down at the dice he was rolling in his hand, "you have those dice."

"Come, come, Marissa, you know why."

"And this is the game you wish to play?"

"This is the game I wish to play with you."

She glanced toward the door.

"I locked it," he said promptly, "and left instructions we are not to be disturbed."

"My grandmother and Lord Jasper?"

"Gone to bed, I am told, also with instructions not to be disturbed."

"And George?"

"Not back yet. No doubt he is enjoying rubbing shoulders with the Magna Midcombe folk and partaking of the local ale. Don't worry about George."

Marissa gave a little shiver, a frisson of excitement, and rose to her feet. She approached the small card table where Valentine was waiting and allowed him to draw out a chair for her, calmly arranging her skirts about her as she sat.

"Is this part of your promise to show me about pleasure?" she said, clasping her hands before her and watching his face.

But instead of answering her he said, "Here are the rules. There must be no touching, not until the game is over."

"No touching?" she cried, unable to keep the disappointment out of her voice. For Marissa, the act of touching his skin was a pleasure in itself.

He smiled and threw the dice. They landed on four and two. "Now your turn," he said softly, gathering them up again and handing them to her.

Marissa held the dice tight in her hand, feeling the excitement growing inside her. She couldn't decide whether she wanted to win or lose, but when she threw and the numbers were revealed—a three and a two—her disappointment made her realize what her true wishes were.

"I lost," she said, raising her eyes questioningly to his.

His triumphant smile made her shiver again.

"And I won."

"Does that mean I—"

"Wait, I haven't finished explaining the rules of the game. The winner of each throw must choose the item of clothing the loser must remove. Otherwise, minx, I suspect you will take off a single shoe or a ribbon, and then the game will go on for far too long."

"I suspect you're right," Marissa said. "Nevertheless I am a little anxious to know what you are going to choose for me to remove."

He took his time deciding. His gaze traveled leisurely over her, increasing her tension, until she felt quite light-headed.

"Your jewelry," he spoke at last.

She reached up to touch her necklace, feeling the pearls warm beneath her fingers. "Which piece of my jewelry?"

"All of it. Jewelry counts as one item."

"Oh?" She considered arguing but decided to save it until the game had progressed further. Slowly, Marissa began to remove her necklace. She placed the pearls on the table and then added her earrings and her two rings, finally unclipping her bracelet and setting it down on top of the pile.

She'd expected him to ask her to take off an item of her clothing, and been relieved, though slightly confused, by his choice. But now, without her jewelry, she felt uncomfortable and strangely naked, as if she was improperly dressed. It made her understand just how important a woman's jewel box was as part of her imaginary armor, adding to her self-confidence when she appeared before others.

Valentine met her eyes, then let his gaze take in the nakedness of her neck and earlobes and hands. "Thank you," was all he said, as he picked up the dice and threw again.

The numbers were six and a one. Marissa threw a five and a four, and breathed a sigh of relief. "Me this time," she said, a lilt of anticipation in her voice.

She tapped a fingertip to her chin, pretending to deliberate, but she'd already decided what she was going to ask him to remove. From the first moment she'd seen Valentine without his shirt she'd been struck by the sheer beauty of his body. She wanted him naked as soon as possible.

"Your jacket."

He made no comment, merely removing the item and dropping it on the floor beside him. His shirt was silk and her fingers itched to caress it, but that was against the rules of the game, and she turned back to the dice with a renewed determination to win.

But it was Valentine who won the next two throws.

First, he asked her to take off her shoes and, second, to remove her pins and the ebony comb that was holding up her hair. She set her evening slippers on the floor beside her chair and then reached up to begin dismantling her hair. Without the comb the long tresses fell heavily about her shoulders, curling against her back and the low décolletage of her violet silk evening dress, and with each pin she removed her hair became wilder.

Instinctively he stretched out his hand, as if to capture a tress of dark hair, but stopped himself, clenching his fingers into a fist before drawing it back. "No touching," he said, reminding them both. "Not yet."

Her breath caught in her throat. "Not yet? What if I want you to touch me?"

"Touching means you forfeit the game. Are you prepared to do that at this early stage? Do you want to lose, Marissa?"

"No, I want to win." She spoke with conviction. Yes, she wanted to win. She wanted Valentine in her power, naked before her.

His eyes delved into hers. "I want to win, too," he said.

Marissa won the next four throws. First she had him take off his silk shirt, so that his skin gleamed in the candlelight, while the muscular curves and hollows of his body bunched and rippled every time he moved. Then she had him remove his neck cloth, because it ruined the effect dangling about his neck all on its own. Thirdly she asked for him to take off his shoes and then, lastly, his belt. She planned to get rid of the trousers on the next throw, but her run of luck ran out and this time Valentine won.

"Your dress," he said with satisfaction, and sat back and folded his arms, as if preparing for the ensuing show.

Marissa laughed at him, disguising her anxiety as best she could. She'd never undressed before a man and although this was Valentine, the man she'd already shared a great deal with, it was far more nerve-wracking than she'd imagined.

To begin with, there were the hooks at the back. After struggling with them inelegantly for several moments she gave up. "You will have to help me," she said. "Surely it won't count as touching if you only touch the hooks and the cloth and not my skin?"

He bowed his head in acquiescence.

Marissa went around the table and stood with her back to him, and waited as she felt the tug of the hooks being released. The dress began to loosen about her, and she put up her hand to prevent it slipping down over her bosom to her waist. When he'd done she turned to face him.

It was difficult to read his expression. He was keeping himself very much under control. Suddenly she knew she wanted to see his will crumble. She wanted to see him vulnerable. That was what winning meant to her. Having Valentine in the palm of her hand.

She allowed the cloth to slide through her hands, slowly, uncovering the lacy top of her chemise where it cupped her breasts. The evening dress caught at her waist, and she bent to release the ties, aware that doing so meant he could see the full swell of her bosom. The dress slithered to her feet, and calmly she stepped out of it, returning to her chair in her petticoats and undergarments and her stockinged feet.

Marissa won the next throw and was finally able to watch him stand and unbutton his trousers. He pushed them down over his trim hips and muscular thighs. Much to her disappointment, he was wearing a tight-fitting undergarment, but as it really was very tight she soon reconciled herself.

Valentine won after that, and Marissa removed her petticoats after a great deal of argument as to whether they constituted one item of clothing or three. In the end he won, and she removed all three. As she sat down opposite him, she was flushed from the argument and very conscious of her half-naked state. Although in fact she wasn't really naked; her bloomers covered her down to the knee and from there her stockings covered her to her toes. Her chemise and stays were another barrier to his gaze, despite her shoulders and arms being naked, and her breasts pushed up to make the décolletage of her evening dress more daring.

He took his time admiring her. "You are beautiful," he said, his voice low and husky.

"So are you," she teased, her gaze admiring his torso. "Can't I touch you, just a little, Valentine?"

But he shook his head and handed her the dice.

Marissa won next and ordered him to remove his stockings. She was tempted to go straight for the undergarment but decided it would be too peculiar to see him naked with his stockings still on.

Valentine won twice after that, and Marissa removed her own stockings, peeling them slowly over her calves and dropping them to the floor, then her stays, which were a struggle that left her breathless and hot, although much less restricted. Only the chemise retained her modesty.

"Do you still think you are going to win?" he demanded, eyes glittering, the dice ready in his hand. "This game requires more skill than you think, minx."

"It is a simple game of chance," she retorted, watching his hand as he allowed the dice fall and rattle across the tabletop.

A one and a two.

With a little smile, Marissa picked up the dice and held them a moment tightly in her palm, before letting them fall. She could hardly believe her eyes. A one and a one! Her gaze lifted to his, and saw the bright flare of triumph.

Again he took his time while she shifted about uncomfortably.

"The chemise," he said.

She reached to the small buttons and paused.

"Do you want to default?" he said.

"And allow you to win? Never!"

Slowly she began to unbutton the front of the garment, aware that with every inch her breasts were revealed to his gaze. She slipped one of the shoulder straps down, and then the other, allowing the chemise to slide to her waist, then wriggling it over her hips and thighs, reaching down to tug it away and drop it on the growing pile of clothing beside the table. When she straightened, her arms were crossed over her breasts, hiding her nakedness, while only the bloomers covered her lower body.

"No hiding," he reprimanded her huskily. "That's against the rules."

"How do I know you're not making up the rules as we go along?" she retorted breathlessly.

"Unfold your arms, Marissa."

His gaze was compelling, his voice commanding, but neither would have made Marissa capitulate if she didn't want to. Because the truth was, she wanted him to see her naked. She felt beautiful beneath his gaze. She wanted his eyes on her.

Marissa unfolded her arms. He drew in a sharp breath, taking in the sight. It was as if she could feel him touching her, brushing against her skin, causing her to give a little shiver. Her breasts felt full and heavy, her nipples aching and dark with excitement.

He groaned aloud. "Beautiful . . ."

Her stomach went hollow. She drank him in, sitting there in the candlelight, so masculine, so handsome. She almost stood and flung herself into his arms, but then she remembered that if she touched him then he would win, so she stopped herself. Because it was important to her that she win this tug of war, almost as if to win was an omen of things to come.

"Your turn," she said, her voice sounding unlike her own. "Roll the dice, Valentine."

He hesitated, as if this moment was important to him, too, and then he picked up the dice and lifted his closed hand to his lips as though to give himself luck. This time he didn't draw out the process, but threw quickly.

A five and a three.

Marissa gathered them up and into her palm.

She rolled them across the table, aware of his warm naked skin so near to hers, the quick rise and fall of his chest.

A five and a five.

She had won.

He groaned and stood up, fumbling at the buttons on his undergarment. Her gaze took in the bulge between his thighs, as he rolled the cloth over his hips and down his thighs. His cock was jutting out from his body, and as she looked it quivered as if it had a life of its own. She wanted to touch him, feel him, discover all there was to know about him. He shoved the garment down to his feet and kicked it aside, and a moment later she was reaching out to close her fingers around him.

"Oh, Marissa," he whispered, the words barely coherent. He covered her hand with his and she felt him shaking.

"Can I touch you?" she said, but she was already doing so, unable to stop herself any longer. "I want to touch you, Valentine."

"I'll spend in your hand," he groaned.

"Can I do that to you?" she said, eyes bright as she looked up at him. "I want you to lose control, Valentine."

She saw the sudden flare of passion in his face.

He caught her upper arms and dragged her against his chest, and his mouth came down hard on hers. He was kissing her as if he wanted to swallow her up, his tongue in her mouth, his lips covering hers. Her breasts were jammed against his chest, and the abrasion of his hair and her nipples made her squirm, gasping. Clasping her buttocks in his palms, he drew her hard against him, and she felt his cock settle in the niche between her thighs.

Marissa squeaked. Pleasure threatened to over-flow, trembling on the brink, and she moved against him, the friction edging her toward the desired peak.

In their efforts to get closer he lifted her higher and she shifted the angle of her hips, and suddenly he slid inside the slick, tight sheath of her body. Surprise stopped them. Panting, Valentine looked down into her eyes, his own startled. She licked her lips and pushed against him, feeling him enter her another inch, filling her in a way that was new and exciting.

"Marissa, I can't," he groaned. "I won't take your virginity."

"I want you to," she said quietly. Reaching down, she clasped her hand about the root of him. "And you want to. Please, Valentine. If it is what we both want . . ."

He bent his head and took her nipple into his mouth, drawing on it while Marissa's head fell back and she gasped. Her body arched toward him, only her fingers clutching his shoulders and his hands on her buttocks keeping her on her feet.

Such sweet pleasure. Couldn't he see how perfect they were together? That it was meant to be? Marissa's thoughts were barely lucid as his hand slid between her thighs, and his fingers dove into her slick core. She cried out as the climax took her, shuddering in his arms, beyond all thought now.

When at last she came to herself, he was sitting on the chair with her gathered into his arms, holding her close, his chin resting on top of her head.

"Valentine?" she managed.

"Hush."

"No, I want you to—"

"I want to teach you about pleasure."

"But I want you to be my lover!"

"I am your lover."

"No, you're not. Not completely. Not properly."

She stood up on shaking legs, angry and tearful, and began to gather up her clothing, pulling it on as best she could. And all the while she spoke in a trembling, angry voice she hardly recognized.

"I don't want you to protect me. I don't need your protection when it comes to my virginity. It is mine to give and I give it to you. Don't you see that? I'm not some silly young thing who doesn't understand what she's doing, I've never been that sort of woman. I make my own decisions, Valentine, and I want you to respect them."

She reached the door and turned the key. Her hair was in her eyes but there was no time to tidy it. She thrust it back over her shoulder and stared back at him, where he remained in the chair, watching her, expressionless.

"I don't understand," she said, her lips trembling, and then she was outside, the door was closed, and she was hurrying through the silent house to her bedchamber, tears already pouring down her cheeks.