Chapter 29

Lord Shelton laughed at Stacia's question but immediately said, "Of course."

He began to get up.

"I will fetch it," Stacia said. She slipped from the bed and felt around until she located her chemise and slipped it over her head before picking her way back to the seating area, searching until she found his neckcloth where he'd tossed it, and then hurried back to the bed and dropped the linen strip over the spot where his torso should be. "Here it is."

"Shall I—"

"Yes. You put it on." She threw the words over her shoulder while heading back to the fireplace. By the time she located the bowl of spills and lighted two of the candles a quick glance in the direction of the bed showed that he'd already tied on the blindfold and was lying on his back.

Her gaze jumped immediately to where his hand languidly moved up and down.

She sucked in a breath, her heart thundering at the shockingly erotic sight.

His head rolled toward her when she approached the bed, his lips wearing the lazy, sensual smile she'd seen in dozens of ballrooms as he'd charmed hundreds of women—a look that had filled her with so much yearning that she could still feel it.

"Well?" he asked.

"Well?" she echoed.

"Shall I pleasure myself, or do you want to do it for me?"

" Me ?"

He laughed and she marveled as the muscles in his chest and belly flexed. He used the hand not stroking himself to caress his belly, his broad palm sliding slowly up the ridged muscle to the slab of his breast. He gave a low purr of pleasure when he dragged his fingers over an erect nipple.

Stacia watched all of it in open-mouthed wonder.

"Are you still there?" he asked, amusement coloring his husky voice.

She nodded dumbly, recalled he could not see her and said, "Yes. You are—" She bit her tongue before the word magnificent slipped out.

"Without shame?" he suggested, his grin sinful.

"Yes," she said, and then gave a choked laugh.

He laughed with her, his hands not ceasing their mesmerizing motions.

Stacia wanted to touch him so badly her clenched hands ached with the effort of not reaching for him. But she was, at the end of the day, a coward. "I w-will watch." She was so embarrassed she could hardly force the words out.

If he was disappointed, he gave no sign of it, merely nodding and leaving her to enjoy the sight of his body and what he was doing to it.

Stacia had never seen a penis in full, er, bloom. It was far larger than one was given to believe based on the classical statues. The rest of him, however, was as beautiful as any marble depiction of masculinity she had ever seen. Of course none of the statues had borne scars on their perfectly chiseled torsos, but that only made him more beautiful in her opinion.

"Do you like watching me, Stacia?"

"Yes." She pulled her rapt gaze from his stroking fist and moved slowly up the artistry of his abdomen and chest, fascinated to note that he was now sheened in perspiration. His face was a mask of raw sensuality, his full, shapely lips slack.

"You were magnificent earlier—giving your pleasure up to me so perfectly—it is a miracle I did not humiliate myself and spend all over myself." He smiled faintly. "And yet that is exactly what I am about to do in any case." His breathing grew rougher and his strokes quickened. "Touch me while I come for you, Stacia."

Her hand was moving before the request had left his mouth. She wished she were close enough to claim his lips, but the way he was shaking told her he was about to experience what she had enjoyed— four times today—and so she slid a hand up his thigh, not close enough to interrupt his motions, but close enough to lightly brush the shadowed bulge between his splayed thighs.

It was happening too quickly—it would all be over too fast.

"Not yet." Stacia spoke the words without realizing it.

His hand instantly stopped. "No?" he asked in a strained voice.

She swallowed. "No."

Rather than look annoyed—which was how she had felt when he had teased her earlier—he smiled. "You are a cruel mistress," he murmured. "Would you like me to beg?"

Her jaw dropped, her breathing so rough she could hear it. "Yes."

His nostrils flared. "Please let me stroke myself, Stacia."

Stacia swore the room rocked around her at his plea. Yet again she gaped like a landed fish before collecting scrambled wits.

"You may. But s-slowly."

The muscles in his abdomen and chest tensed as he stroked himself all the way from crown to root, his hips lifting off the bed as he thrust, his erection appearing obscenely huge.

"Again," she commanded.

He repeated his caress, but only as much as she allowed him.

Power and desire warred inside her, the eroticism of having such a body at her control…intoxicating.

Stacia tormented him as long as she could bear it—until they were both tense with need—and then said, "M-make yourself—" her voice broke. "Do it," she ordered gruffly, her tongue refusing to form the naughty words he'd used earlier.

He did not hesitate to comply, his hips pumping savagely, his slick length slamming into his fist. It took scarcely a half dozen thrusts before his muscles grew taut beneath his sheened skin. He reached out blindly with his free hand and when Stacia grasped it his hips rose off the bed, and she watched in wonder as his release came. Jet after jet after jet, crisscrossing as far as his chest, his grip on her hand crushing as each wave rolled through his big body.

His back arched until every striation and sinew must be visible. And then, suddenly, he sagged into a boneless heap, still gasping for breath as he reached up and flicked the blindfold from his head, glanced down at himself, and then used the expensive linen to wipe up his chest and belly.

He tossed the cloth aside when he was finished and offered her a heavy-eyed smile, looking as contented as a sleek cat lounging in a patch of warm sunshine. " Mmm , I liked having you watch me."

Her face scalded under his sated gaze.

"Now I have embarrassed you," he said as she disentangled their laced fingers.

"No, I just need—"

He caught her wrist when she would have slid off the bed. "Come and lie with me—it is late, and I am no danger to your virtue in this condition." He grinned sleepily. "Not for some time, at least."

"But…the candles?"

"Let them burn." He released her long enough to pull the blankets from beneath their bodies and cover them. And then he wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her to him, once again holding her with his front to her back. "There. Just like that." He yawned. "I should have asked if you needed anything—food? Something to drink?"

"No," she said faintly, her belly churning at the thought of trying to choke anything down at this point.

" Mmmm ," he rumbled, pulling her tighter and molding his body to hers. "Are you traumatized?"

She gave a startled laugh. "What?"

"Have you ever seen a naked, aroused man?"

"When would I have had a chance to see such a thing?" she demanded in a high, unnatural voice.

Predictably, he chuckled. "You mean you've never been locked into a priest hole with a strange man at any of the house parties you've attended? I thought it was all the rage."

"I once saw the bare backside of my friend's brother when I was visiting her during the summer," she blurted.

"Oh?" he said, sounding slightly more awake. "And how was that experience?"

She snorted. "How do you think it was? I screamed and ran."

His big body shook with mirth as he kissed her temple, ear, and neck. "Poor Stacia. How old were you?"

"Six-and-ten. He was younger and we were fortunate that he and his mates were more mortified than we were." She paused and then couldn't help asking, "When did you first see a woman without clothing?"

He made a thoughtful humming sound. "I must have been fourteen. It was certainly before I turned fifteen because that is when the old duke finally gave in to my nagging and bought me a commission."

"That is so young!"

He shrugged.

"What happened?" she asked.

"What happened?" he repeated blankly.

"Yes. Where was she when you saw her?"

"Beneath me in bed."

Stacia gasped and then twisted in his arms.

"What are you doing? I was comfortable," he complained petulantly when she turned until she could see his face, their bodies no longer touching.

"You were with a woman when you were only fourteen ?"

"Yes."

"Who—who was it?"

He lifted one eyebrow at her.

"I just meant, was it—it wasn't a servant, was it?"

An expression of distaste flickered across his face. "What do you take me for? The sort of cad who foists himself on powerless women?"

"No. Of course not," she said. "I am sorry if I implied that. It is just that we once engaged a maid who'd been molested by her employer—a man I saw dozens of times during my London Season. Nobody would hire her because he had so blackened her name. My father believed her rather than her employer. He said some aristocratic men thought that everyone who lived in their home belonged to them—like their dogs and horses."

"Your father was right. But my uncle would have beaten his sons—or me—if we'd ever been inclined to such behavior."

"So…then who was the woman?"

He grinned at her. "So curious! Why is that?"

"I told you about my first time," she retorted, even though she knew it was hardly the same.

But it seemed her argument convinced him, because he said, "It was the old duke's mistress."

Her jaw dropped. "But—but—"

"You sound like hen. Bock! Bock! "

She ignored his teasing, so many questions roiling inside her head it was hard to know what to ask first. "How old was she? And why would she do such a thing?"

"I have no idea how old she was. As to the why? I can only assume the duke had irked her in some way." He smirked. "Or she simply could not resist my male beauty."

"You were a child!"

"I was an ignorant, horny young lad." He grinned. "And when I returned to school, I was a very well-respected, not-quite-so-ignorant, swaggering lothario."

"Shame on you! I thought a gentleman did not share such details."

"I was a callow youth. Besides, it wasn't me who let it slip but Sylvester."

"You must have told him."

"Er, not exactly."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean he was there, too."

Stacia stared in openmouthed shock—a state this man reduced her to far too frequently.

For the first time ever, Lord Shelton looked embarrassed. "I probably should not have shared that. I beg your par—"

"Is that something people do often?"

"Er—"

Stacia shoved his chest, not that he budged so much as an inch. "Oh, just answer my question! Nobody ever tells women this sort of thing and I am four-and-twenty."

"Four-and-twenty?" he repeated, his eyebrows raised.

"What?" she demanded.

"Nothing."

Stacia wanted to ask him what that look was for, but she wanted an answer to her previous question more. "If you can experience such a thing at fourteen, certainly I am old enough to simply hear about it?"

"Well," he said drawing the word out while regarding her with a wary look. "Young men are—how should I put this?" He seemed to be asking the question of himself. "They do not last long."

Stacia frowned, trying to put his meaning together and save herself from appearing more of an ignorant dunce than she was.

"They ejaculate quickly." He paused. "Er, do you know what ejac—"

"Of course, I know what that means!" Although only because of the context.

"A young man goes off far too quickly to ensure his partner's pleasure. Two young men, however, might manage to get the job, er, done."

Comprehension, along with—at least—the fiftieth blush of the last few days, came to her.

It would be extremely difficult to look the Duke of Chatham in the eye the next time she saw him.

Stacia frowned as a thought came to her. "Do two women ever lie with one man?"

His eyes widened slightly. "Er—"

"Never mind," she hastily said, not wanting to allow that picture purchase in her mind.

"It does seem rather unjust that young ladies get no education on such matters," he said after a moment, absently reaching out and smoothing a lock of hair behind her ear. His gaze sharpened on her and his hand slid around her waist and settled on her lower back. "I will answer any questions you have about sexual matters—just ask."

"I have none," she lied.

He smiled. "That offer will remain open. Now, come here," he said, gently but inexorably pulling her closer. "Rest your head on my arm," he said when it was clear she didn't know quite what to do with herself. "And slide your upper leg between my thighs. Go on," he urged when she gawked—yet another expression she'd worn more often than she liked.

She did as he bade her and he lowered his leg over hers, fitting them together yet again, but more like forks than spoons. Stacia shifted slightly and finally put her upper arm around his body.

" Mmmm. Good. Comfortable?" he asked.

"Your arm hardly makes a soft pillow."

He chuckled and shifted until her head rested on his shoulder. "Better?"

She burrowed in a bit more before giving a satisfied grunt.

"Good night, Stacia."

"Good night…Andrew."

Stacia was amazed at how quickly he fell asleep, his breathing deep and even within what felt like seconds. How could he possibly sleep after what had just happened?

Because it is nothing special to him. Not like it was for you .

The thought was all the more painful because she knew it was true. How many lovers had he had? How many times had he done these things with another woman?

This is not love, Stacia.

She didn't think it was. At least not on his side. It was just lust.

Stacia squeezed her eyes shut, as if that would stimulate thought. No, lust didn't sound right, either.

Whatever it is, it is not enough to sustain a marriage.

She stared up at the slanted ceiling, her vision suddenly hot and blurry. Her mind was like a tangle of embroidery silks. She could not think clearly while she was so intimately…enmeshed with his body. She would wait until he was dozing deeply and then carefully disengage herself from him.

Yes. That is what she would do. And then she would be able to think.

Stacia wiped her eyes and then closed them and commenced to wait.

Within seconds, she surrendered to sleep.