Chapter Sixteen

L uke had spent the carriage ride contemplating Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s proposal, Belle’s reaction, and his own. After the initial shock had passed, he rather liked the idea. He’d meant what he’d said about Belle’s guidance and encouragement. She was captivating—the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen.

He’d never been in love, but he imagined it would be a short fall to that state from where his thoughts were already.

There was, of course, the hurdle of his father that they’d have to discuss. However, one thing The Earl had never had issues with was class differences. Hell, he’d had paramours both in Northumberland and London; Luke had seen evidence of them when he’d visited from school and later university. Small touches like flowers in parlors and extra care in the shine of the silver that his father had never noticed, as well as a slightly less rigid posture and facial expression on his patriarch. There might be concerns about acceptance, as the women had discussed, but if it were a love match, he thought his father would be less likely to fight it.

In the meantime, there was fun to be had. He wanted to ensure Belle saw the benefits to their liaison before they had a serious conversation about the possibility of it. He’d seen her eyes light up and trail down his frame when the Widow had suggested remaining together for a fortnight.

As a courtesan, he supposed she rarely went very long without a bed partner. Hell, he might be in a longer dry spell than she was. However, his attention was not on gaining his own pleasure, but on ensuring hers. He suspected that even with more frequent opportunities, her profession required her to concentrate on her partner rather than herself. Tonight, no matter the length of his abstinence, he’d keep the emphasis on Belle. She would not be an afterthought, nor would she have to ensure her own enjoyment. He would take that role.

He plucked her hand away from his trousers and said, “We both have too many clothes for the next course.”

She reached to untie his cravat.

He let her, poking his waistcoat buttons through the holes at top speed. He stripped it off then moved to the cuffs at his wrists. The minute she’d drawn the cravat from around his neck, he reached over his head and yanked his shirt off, tossing it aside.

Even undressing himself was for her, though. Gesturing, he teased her, “I thought perhaps you’d like to continue your vocabulary practice.”

He needn’t have bothered. Her attention was rapt on that fuzzed letter.

Belle laid her hands on his chest muscles and skimmed over the small tight nipples to follow the trail of hair.

He sucked in a breath. When they met over his sternum, she brushed downward, and his stomach clenched. Reaching his trousers again, she moved to open them.

He stepped in, capturing her hand between them, to cup her head and angle his lips over hers. He sipped, relishing their plush velvet, before dipping his tongue in for a taste.

Too impatient to linger, he retreated and brought his hands to her hips to spin her, saying, “Your turn.”

He made quick work of the laces on her dress, his hands trembling at each inch of creamy skin revealed. He’d never been so grateful for a woman’s experience; he needn’t worry about shyness or discomfort with him disrobing her. Instead, he could linger over her beauty. Shoving the gown off her shoulders, he walked around to her front and grasped her elbow to help her over the puddle of fabric.

Her nipples did indeed match the berry of her lips. Her waist was narrow, widening to luscious hips that would fill his hands perfectly to control his pace—if his desire allowed that.

She blinked, her dark eyes wide.

“Belle,” he gasped. He needed a moment to find words that did her splendor justice.

She cocked a hip, planting a hand on it and arching her back. Oh no, he did not want a performance. In fact, he wanted everything about the night to differ from her usual lovers. Doubt assailed him. She’d had any number of paramours. What made him think he could stand out? He shook off the worry. Concentrating on her pleasure would be a good start, at least.

“My word”—the gravel in his voice surprised both of them—“you are the embodiment of beauty and passion. You are magnificent.”

In a practiced movement, she ran her other hand up her side, over a breast, then through her hair before gesturing at him. “Come now, I’d like to see the rest.”

He needed to get her out of her routine of seduction. He wanted her to stop thinking, to relax and enjoy his attentions. Also, if his trousers came off, there was no accounting for how long he could see to her pleasure before throwing himself on her. “Later. I need to taste you again.”

A wrinkle formed between her brows for a moment, and her arms dropped to hang by her sides.

That was better.

“Please, Belle. Lie down. I want to touch and taste every inch of you. In fact, start on your stomach.”

“My stomach?” Her eyes flared. From surprise or pleasure? Both, he hoped.

He nodded.

Obeying his directive, she stretched out on her belly. The lush globes of her behind made his mouth water before he even touched her. He straddled her hips and leaned his head to hers, surrounding her.

She shuddered once.

He breathed in her signature rose scent, touched with the aroma of her arousal. “Relax and enjoy, Belle. I know I will.”

“I’m trying,” she mumbled into her pillow.

When her shoulders dropped a fraction lower, he rose and smoothed his palms up her arms to her back, sweeping her hair to one side. He skimmed down her spine then back up, his fingers stretching around her ribs, feathering along the sides of her breasts where they pressed against the bed.

She moaned, and under him, her back arched an inch more, her bottom pressing upward.

He was desperate to get his hands on that arse, but schooling himself to patience, he repeated the pattern. Skipping the delectable derriere threatening to distract him, he scooted off her to start at her ankles and stroke upward.

Finally, his hands found her bottom and squeezed the round softness. His cock surged in his trousers impatiently. After a quick adjustment to alleviate the fabric’s strangulation, he ignored it.

Bending forward, he ran his lips along her spine then pressed his opened mouth to one gorgeous globe.

She squirmed.

He bit her.

A muffled shriek came from her pillow, and she raised her head. “You bit me.”

A mischievous grin spread across his face. “Stay still, then.”

He licked the underside of a cheek before running his tongue up her side to toy with the side of her breast as his fingers had. He did it again to her other side.

Her back rose and fell faster now, her breaths audible.

If he turned her and she pounced, he was not certain he’d have the strength to insist on pleasing her first.

“Turn over, Belle, but no touching until it is your turn.”

He did not know if he hoped she’d listen or ignore him.