Chapter 6

G wendolyn’s heart all but pounded out of her chest as Tom Talbot carried her out of the theater to the carriage that awaited them by the curb.

Only in her most embarrassing, most impossible daydreams had Gwen even imagined a man scooping her up in his arms and carrying her. She might be short, but she wasn’t what you would call petite, narrowing the pool of men who were even capable of the task.

Then, there was the fact that nobody was interested.

But Tom Talbot was capable… more than capable. He wasn’t even breathing heavily.

And she knew it was all an act, but the leering grin he was giving her was remarkably convincing.

“Here we are,” he said, setting her down beside the glossy black carriage. He pulled open the door and offered her his hand. “After you, m’lady.”

“Oh!” she exclaimed, accepting his hand as she climbed in. “I’m not a lady. Just a plain miss… er, missus.”

“That’s all right,” he said easily, taking the rear-facing seat opposite her. “What would you like me to call you?”

She thought for a moment. “Gwendolyn.”

He inclined his head. “A pleasure to meet you, Gwendolyn.”

“Likewise, Mr. Talbot.”

One corner of his mouth twisted up. “I’m not sure anyone’s ever called me Mr. Talbot . Only gentry coves get a mister on the front end of their name.”

Gwen felt her cheeks heating. “I’m sorry.”

He waved a hand. “Don’t be. But you can call me Tom, Tommy… whatever you like.”

“Very well, Tom.” She flushed red. Calling him Tom felt shockingly intimate.

Just wait until you’re lying naked beneath him .

Perfect. Now, she was breaking out in hives.

Across the carriage, Mr. Talbot… er, Tom… cleared his throat. “So, I assume you read my conditions?”

She peered at him in the shadowy carriage. “Conditions?” She hadn’t had time to read anything as she hadn’t realized she would be doing this until an hour ago. “I’m afraid not.”

She could just make out his brow lowering in the dim light. “We’d better go over them now, then. Make sure there won’t be any surprises.”

She nodded. “That sounds advisable, Mr.… Tom.”

“So, the gist of it is, there won’t be any hitting, choking, biting?—”

“Oh, my gracious!” Gwen cried, shocked to her core. “I would never do any of that!”

He gave her a strange look. “What I meant was, I won’t be hitting you .”

Gwen was entirely confused. “I should hope not. Did I misunderstand the nature of the auction? Is what I purchased a… a boxing lesson?”

“No, no. We’re going to…” He trailed off. Gwen took it that he was searching his boxer’s vocabulary for the least offensive term. He finally settled on, “Tup.”

“I see,” Gwendolyn said, even though she did not. After a fraught pause, she added, “Am I to understand that the reason you have a list of things you refuse to do is because women have requested these particular, um… services… in the past?”

“That they have,” Tom said, his voice holding a grim note.

Gwendolyn rubbed her brow. Gracious, she must understand even less about what she was about to do than she had thought. “I’m sorry. I am at something of a loss as to why someone might request such a thing.”

For some reason, this made Tom grin. “You and me both. But that’s good. Sounds like we’ll rub along just fine. So, you mentioned being a missus.”

“I am a widow,” Gwen hastened to reassure him. “You don’t have to worry that you are abetting me in breaking my marriage vows.”

“Right.” He was studying her keenly. “Let me guess, your husband wasn’t, how you say, satisfactory as a lover?”

Gwendolyn gave a nervous laugh. “You could say that.”

For some reason, this made Tom look cheerful. “Good. That’s good. We’ll see if we can’t fix that for you tonight.” He leaned forward, peering out the window. “Ah, here we are.”

The carriage drew to a halt. As Gwen stepped outside, she recognized Pulteney House, which was widely regarded as London’s finest hotel. Rather than stopping at the grand front entrance, beneath the famous balcony with its bow window, the carriage had pulled around to a side door. Pulling her hood lower over her face, Gwen accepted Tom’s arm and followed a footman into the hotel.

She had never been inside Pulteney House, although she had seen it from a distance while walking in nearby Green Park. Just walking through the corridor, she could tell it was far more luxurious than the respectable but modest gentry home where she had grown up, with Axminster carpets on the floor and gilded sconces lining the walls.

They went up two flights of stairs, then the footman opened the first door they came to, revealing a suite. The curtains were drawn, and it would be pitch black at this time of night, but during the day, the views over the park must be spectacular.

Gwen glanced around the room nervously. There was nothing inherently frightening about the bed with its fluffy pillows and snow-white counterpane trimmed in gold fringe, but the sight made her palms go clammy inside her gloves.

Tom murmured something to the footman, then shut the door. Casting her a lazy grin, he strode over to the sideboard. “You look like you could use a drink. What would you like?”

“Um…” Truth be told, Gwendolyn wasn’t much of a drinker. “Is there sherry?”

“There is.” Tom poured her a good two fingers’ worth. He filled his glass from a different bottle, then handed the sherry to her. “Cheers, love.”

She sipped her drink, then tried not to cough. It was stronger than she had expected. Steeling herself, she drained the glass and set it aside.

When she looked up, Tom was watching her with amusement. “Right.” He tossed his own drink back. Gwen stared in fascination as the muscles in his throat worked. He placed his empty glass on the sideboard, then scooped her up again. “Let’s get down to business, then.”

Gwen’s head swam as he carried her to the bed, and she didn’t think it was from the sherry. Tom laid her down, kicked off his boots, and crawled on top of her. The sensation of his huge, warm, hard body pressing her into the mattress caused anything resembling a coherent thought to flee her mind. It felt terrifying and unexpected and thrilling and terrifying and wonderful and sensual, and did she mention terrifying?

Then his lips came down on hers. Gwen gasped in shock. Tom made an approving sound and the next thing she knew, his tongue was inside her mouth ! He tasted like the port he’d just drunk, sweet and spicy and intoxicating. His beard was surprisingly soft against her face. Part of her wanted to bring her hands up and explore it, but she wasn’t sure if she should, or if she even could, as she seemed to be frozen with shock.

He lifted his head, peering down at her. Gwendolyn’s entire body was trembling, which was embarrassing, but she couldn’t seem to stop.

“Is everything all right?” he asked, his brow knotted in a slightly perplexed expression.

“Yes!” she squeaked. “Everything is fine!”

He was still studying her. “I’m guessing… that you don’t have much experience with kissing.”

Gwen scrambled to think of an answer that wasn’t utterly humiliating. To say that she didn’t have much experience with kissing was overstating things significantly; the truth was she had no experience.

She swallowed. “The truth is…”

“Mm-hmm?”

Squeezing her eyes shut, she steeled herself. “The truth is, my husband died shortly after we said our vows, so I do not have as much experience with relations between a man and a woman as you would expect of a typical widow.”

“Ah.” Tom’s shoulders visibly relaxed. “How soon did he die? A few weeks after the wedding?”

Gwendolyn cringed. It was humiliating, but there was nothing for it. She obviously wasn’t any good at pretending she knew what she was doing. “Try, a few hours.”

“A few hours?” Eyes wide, he rolled off her, sitting up on the bed. “Wait… are you a virgin ?”

“Um…” Gwen sat up, too, thinking frantically. No clever prevarication sprang to mind. “Would that be a problem?”

Tom’s eyes were slightly wild, looking everywhere but at her. “Look, as much as I need that hundred and twenty-five pounds, if this is some scheme to try to get pregnant and deprive another man of his inheritance?—”

“It’s not,” she hastened to reassure him. “I’m not seeking to get pregnant.” Something occurred to her. “In fact, my friend, Lady Wyndam was telling me earlier—there’s this device called a ‘condom,’ and if you want to prevent conception, we could?—”

He burst out laughing. Gwen stiffened, but when he looked at her, his eyes were kind. “I know what a condom is, love.”

She felt her cheeks flush. “Oh. Of course.” She cleared her throat. “You’re no doubt wondering why I’m doing this. My goal is to divest myself of my maidenhead. Nothing more.”

He raked a hand through his hair. “But Gwen, you don’t want to do that with me.”

She lifted her chin. “It happens that I do. That is, in fact, why I paid two hundred and fifty pounds for the privilege of having you in my bed tonight.”

He shook his head. “But your first time should be with someone special. Someone who will be gentle with you.”

She studied him in the candlelight. “Would you not be gentle with me?”

“No! I mean, I would try. But…” He laughed darkly. “Just look at me. I’m this big, hulking brute.”

She decided she needed to lay her cards on the table. “That is precisely why I chose you. Because you are a big, hulking brute.”

“Well, you should have chosen someone else,” he muttered.

She shook her head, feeling mulish. “No. You are precisely the man I want. The man I need.”

He eyed her warily. “And why is that?”

She swallowed. “I need to lose my virginity. And I need to do it tonight. It all started the day of my great-aunt Agatha’s funeral…”