Chapter Ten

C HAPTER T EN

“It’s Sabinus,” Christina told Lady Long-Nose. “He’s handsome and kind, and I love him terribly, but when I try to speak to him, I find the words become tangled in my throat.”

Lady Long-Nose sighed. “Why not write him a letter?”

“Oh, but I can’t write like you,” Christina said sadly. “My words are leaden whilst yours sing.”

—From Lady Long-Nose

That book. Julian stared at Elspeth, sitting so casually by the side of his bed, that damned red book open in her hands. All his depraved desires were within that book. All his guilt and shame. Everything that he feared, everything he had to hide from the world. Everything that could destroy him if the wrong people knew.

And yet that book also held the entirety of his helpless yearning.

Elspeth de Moray held his soul in her soft little hands.

“What are you doing here?” he asked again, and he knew his voice sounded desperate.

She looked at him as if assessing him and said, “I was searching for the diary in case it had been hidden here.”

“That’s not the diary,” he snapped as she rose with the book and took a seat on his bed. “How dare you—”

“Do you like such things?” she asked, and her eyes were no longer even on him as she carefully smoothed the page.

He didn’t know how to answer. The question was so beyond the bounds of propriety that—

“I think you must,” she mused. “Otherwise, why would I have found it between your mattresses?”

He licked his lips. “Another might have put it there.”

“No.” She gently shook her head. “The maids would have found it before now when they make the bed.” She crinkled her nose and said almost to herself, “They must make the bed, even if they don’t dust under it.”

His mind had stopped working. He should be shouting, should be ordering her from the room. Instead he merely stood before her and felt his cock swell.

“No,” she said again. “ You put this book under your mattress. Close to you when you lay down on the bed. Within reach should you wish to peruse it in the night.” She glanced down again. “It’s nothing like anything I’ve seen before. I think…” She turned a page and her voice lowered to a whisper. “I think you must like it very much to keep it so close to you.”

“I do,” he said, and saying it aloud was like a dam breaking, the water sluicing out, unrestrained and roiling free. His shoulders relaxed even as he held his breath, ready for condemnation from her.

She only shot him a look from beneath her eyelashes before returning to the page.

Julian wanted to walk closer and see which page she was so intent on, but something held him where he stood. If only…

“Is it the pain?” she asked, a small line between her brows. “Is that what makes this book special?”

“Sometimes.” He swallowed. “Sometimes it’s merely…”

He trailed off. He couldn’t say it. Not to her. He wanted suddenly to flee the room. Take his filthy needs with him.

But as he turned, she held up a hand. “No. Don’t leave.”

She didn’t even look away from the book. As if she simply expected him to obey.

And he did, standing almost quivering before her.

She turned a page. “Do you require more than one person?” She flashed him another look. “Perhaps a man?”

She sounded utterly calm. Utterly unjudgmental.

“I…” Why couldn’t he say the words?

“Tell me,” she commanded. “Do you need more than one person?”

“No.” He inhaled desperately. “I don’t like to be the object of spectacle.” Thank God, for his secret would certainly have been found out if he did.

“And a man? Do you require that?”

He closed his eyes. “Once… once I submitted to another man’s prick. With my mouth. But I found I didn’t enjoy it.”

He opened his eyes. Surely now she would be appalled.

But she only hummed thoughtfully. “I see.”

There was a silence broken only by the sound of pages turning.

Why was he still standing here before her? His cock was pressed against the placket of his breeches. He was exposed, stunned, without control.

She sighed softly. “Which illustration do you like the most?”

“There are several.” He shook his head. “I should go. This is—”

“I think, actually,” she interrupted in that low, throaty voice, “that you should undress.”

He stopped breathing.

If she’d shown any hint of uncertainty, he’d have stridden from the room.

But her pretty sky-blue eyes were implacable. “Now, please.”

He took off his coat, watching her as he dropped it to the floor.

She merely raised her eyebrows.

His waistcoat and shirt came off more quickly, followed by his shoes and stockings, which made him feel a bit of a fool, wobbling before her.

His cock throbbed.

When he reached for his falls, he hesitated and looked at her.

One corner of her curved lips twitched up. “Go on.”

He swallowed and stepped out of his breeches.

He thought he heard a small inhalation, but he could no longer look at her.

The room was quiet as he unbuttoned his smallclothes, his hands brushing against his hard prick.

And then they fell and he was exposed before her, breathing in. Breathing out. His shoulders trembling with everything he needed.

“You’re beautiful,” she whispered. “I’ve wanted to tell you that since the first day I saw you in Windemere library.”

He wanted… he wanted to preen beneath her gentle praise. To debase himself and let her kind words flow over his back, a salve for all his wounds.

“Come here,” she called. “Kneel before me.”

Slowly, he lowered himself to the floor.

“Right here.” She pointed in front of her.

He shuffled forward, his cock tapping against his stomach, already beginning to leak. He kept his head down in submission so he was watching as her skirts began to rise over stockings, over knees, until they bunched on her sweetly curved thighs.

Then she parted her legs.

He stared at her pretty quim, her curling golden-red bush, her folds gently parted and glistening. For a second, he froze, rebelling. She was too pure. He couldn’t do this to her, draw her into his depravity.

But even as his shoulders tensed, she laid her hand on his head. “Don’t think.” He saw out of the corner of his eye as she kicked off her slipper and bent to draw off a stocking.

Then she was wrapping it over his eyes.

“Don’t think,” she murmured again. “Don’t worry.”

He felt her tie the stocking behind his head.

Her hands cradled his face as she whispered, “Just lick me.”

Her heart was flying, a swallow sailing high, soaring into the sun.

Julian knelt at her feet. His broad shoulders bowed, the long tail of his hair falling over his chest. He had very little hair on his upper body, but below his navel, a line of black hair led to his cock, flushed an almost purplish red, standing proud and thicker than she had expected. A drop of liquid trembled at the slit.

He raised his hands, broad but elegant, the fingers long and strong, and placed them on her legs, gently spreading them farther apart as he drew closer. All she could see now were his shoulders, the top of his head, her stocking blinding him, and his big hands on her white thighs.

“Lick me,” she ordered, her voice breathy, and watched, rapt, as he bent his head.

A touch gentle and moist on the tender skin of her thigh. She could feel his mouth against her as he kissed his way to her cunny.

And then…

Oh, his tongue was hot. He licked delicately around the edges of her cunny, nudging between the inner and outer folds. Teasing. Making her tremble with anticipation.

“Further,” she whispered, tightening her hold on his head, digging her fingers through the strung-tight locks of his hair. “Deeper.”

He obeyed her words.

He moved his hands up to frame her center, and his thumbs held her open and apart as he licked firmly between her folds. The sound was obscene and sent a shiver through her.

Even as she shifted her hips in the tiniest movement, she wondered if he would need guidance to the perfect spot. But he licked upward with surety.

And then he stopped.

She waited, breathing. Was he disobeying? Had he come to his senses and decided he did not want this?

She could feel his breath, a warm caress against her wet skin, and then the tip of his tongue, almost tentative, licking around her pearl.

Oh, he knew what he did. He knew what pleasure he could bring her. And the teasing of that small, wet point, circling her flesh, enticing and yet never quite close enough, made her thrust against him.

Demanding more.

She felt his tongue flatten frankly against her, lapping at that part of her where all her pleasure centered. She gasped, throwing back her head. She’d touched herself there, but to have another do it, to have Julian do it, was unbelievably erotic.

She heard herself making foreign noises—a moan, a fractured gasp—and spread her legs as wide apart as she could, demanding he continue.

And he did, holding her hips still as he covered her with his mouth, still licking, still pleasuring her.

Oh Goddess. Oh Goddess, this was too terrible. Too wonderful. Her heart was galloping in her chest, she couldn’t draw breath, and then it happened. A pulsing explosion, beautiful and complete, spreading outward in a warm wave to the very tips of her toes and fingers.

She lay there for unknowing minutes, simply feeling. Simply catching her breath.

And when she came to awareness again, she heard an odd sound. Moist. Rhythmic.

Suggestive.

Elspeth struggled upright to look down between her legs.

Julian knelt there like a Greek supplicant before a goddess, his head thrown back, his neck corded with tense muscle. He had removed her stocking and his face was one of agony, his mouth open and shining, his eyes squeezed shut. It was an expression that made her want to hold him, to console him in his extremity. And between his thighs, his fist worked, sliding and gripping his penis.

It was enormous now. Far bigger than any illustration she’d seen, scarlet with rage, veins entwining its length.

She watched, enthralled, as he bit his bottom lip, his features twisting, until a spume of liquid burst forth from the tip, falling in pearly drops in her maiden hair and onto his thighs.

For a second, his head dropped, slumping between his shoulders, but then he looked up, and his expression was so vulnerable that her heart gave a pang. He looked boyish, his eyes wide, his mouth soft and uncertain, and he jolted to his feet as if he would run.

“No,” she said softly, gently, as if instead of the arrogant, cynical Mr. Greycourt, he were a roebuck, poised to run from a clearing. “Stay. Stay with me. Please?”

She slowly held out her hand, half-afraid he would startle and bound away, and for a moment, he merely gazed at her, his gray eyes lost.

She curled her fingers, beckoning him to her.

He blinked and then came forward.

She took his hand and pulled him down to the bed, scooting over so he had room. He lay stiffly, not moving, until she pushed his shoulder, indicating he should roll over, his back to her.

Then she carefully wound her arm over his waist, snuggling. He was bigger than she, and she couldn’t get both arms entirely around him, but it was near enough as she pressed her front to his back. She sighed a little, enjoying the nearness, feeling affection swell for this prickly man.

Julian relaxed, little by little, as if still waiting for something dire to happen. He was naked, of course. She hadn’t pulled down the coverlet on the bed, but she was still dressed.

She curled her feet inside her skirts, throwing what she could over his legs. Then she hugged him close and lay her head against his bare back.

She could hear his heartbeat, thumping steadily, and she thought how nice this was, to lie together, silent in the midafternoon, his back rising minutely under her cheek as he breathed.

Thump. Thump. Thump…

Julian woke feeling refreshed, and for a moment he didn’t know where exactly he was. The canopy above was familiar. He blinked and blinked again. This was his bed at Adders. He lay in his own bed, naked atop the covers, and there was a woman’s hand on his stomach.

He stared.

Lady Elspeth de Moray’s hand.

He sat up so abruptly the bed shook.

Elspeth was lying behind him, her cheeks flushed with sleep, her golden hair falling about her shoulders.

She yawned and stretched like a kitten and then tucked her fists back under her chin. Sleepy sky-blue eyes met his. “Aren’t afternoon naps decadent?” she murmured. “I never feel so very boneless and warm at night.”

For a moment, he could not answer—his mind had gone entirely blank—and when he did, his voice was hoarse. “I debauched you.”

She hummed doubtfully. “I truly don’t think so. After all, it was me giving the orders.”

He felt the blood rise in his face. He was sitting here nude with his spend dry upon his thighs, and she lay there entirely composed and dressed. He took a breath. “You’ve lain with a man before.”

“No.” She watched him, her pink lips curving slightly. “I haven’t done more than kiss a boy once. He was the blacksmith’s son and very handsome, though not very smart.”

“Then…” He could feel his brows knit. “How can you do this”—he gestured to the bed they were in—“so naturally?”

“Books, I suppose,” she answered. “There are many books about bedsport—so many! Some ancient, some quite recently printed. They come illustrated and not, and the illustrated ones vary. I’ve seen books with tiny colored paintings flecked with gold and others with quite crude drawings. Some books talk of coupling as if it were a heavenly rite. Others call it filthy, but still describe it in detail.” She paused a moment. “But I only really have knowledge through books. Was I incorrect? Did you not enjoy what we did?”

“I… I did enjoy. Everything,” he admitted. Good God, more than enjoyed. But then he pulled himself together. “Yet I’ve done a terrible disservice to you, Lady Elspeth. I am perverted. My desires are not like normal men’s, they’ve been twisted out of shape. My touching you is an abomination itself.”

She had her head cocked, observing him as if he were a strange volume found in an unexpected place in her library. “But I liked what you did. What we did together. You and I.”

He shook his head, turning away to look for his clothing. “You don’t know what is normal between a man and a woman. I’ve led you astray.” He found his smallclothes and donned them before reaching for his breeches.

Behind him a great sigh came from the bed, and he couldn’t stop himself from looking.

Elspeth lay indolently on his bed, an enticing Delilah painted by Rubens, her eyes half-lidded as she watched him. “You keep saying that, but I assure you I don’t feel led astray.”

For a mad moment, he wondered if she was the one seducing, cutting away everything he knew to be true in the world, leaving him shorn and vulnerable.

Then he shook his head, dismissing such folly as he strode to the door with the rest of his clothing. “You are. I’ve corrupted you. Stay away from me, Elspeth.”

He didn’t quite slam the door shut, but it was close. Julian strode away down the hallway, feeling ridiculous that he’d been chased from his own bedroom.

He couldn’t have stayed any longer, though. He’d been hardening even as they spoke. Her voice was so innocent as she talked about “bedsport” and her eyes so knowing. He’d found himself wanting to sink to his knees before her. To feel again that wonderful loss of thought as he worshipped her. To let her simply command him.

But he must not let his urges take control again. Bad enough that he’d shown her such sins once. To continue would be…

Would be…

He slammed his fist into the wall as he passed, letting the pain of his knuckles clear the lustful thoughts from his head.

He was almost running now, taking the stairs down in dangerous leaps.

Julian skidded to a halt before the library door, his chest heaving.

Control.

He needed to wrest back his control. Tie his desires tight to himself and cloak them in indifference. Could he do it now that he’d let himself free with her once? That indescribable bliss of submitting to her, of flying free without plan or thought or fear, had been heady. He’d never felt it with a woman he’d not bought for the night. For her to tell him she enjoyed it as much as he… was that not something he could let himself explore?

But no. What he wanted—craved—from her was not something a gentleman did with a lady. Had Elspeth been at all worldly, she would’ve known to be disgusted.

No. A man who had such abhorrent lusts turned to lesser-known houses of ill repute. To women who wielded canes and whips with eyes deadened by the world and circumstances.

Men like him didn’t deserve a woman with kind blue eyes and a sunlit smile.

Stay away from me.

That was what Julian had said. Humph.

Elspeth scowled as she walked down Adders’s upper hall, Plum trotting beside her. She could do that. She could continue searching the rooms that she’d not done before Julian had arrived. She could stay away from him for the rest of the day and tomorrow as well.

And his words wouldn’t bother her at all .

Except that was a lie, and Elspeth really didn’t like lying to herself.

His words had hurt her—more than they should have if she and Julian had simply enjoyed bedsport.

She halted before a door with a crooked knob.

Her head sagged. The thing was, she liked talking to him. He listened to her, even when she said something that didn’t fit within his view of the world. And she liked listening to him. She had a notion he told her things that he told no one else. It made her feel warm. Soft. As if they were in a cozy space all of their own.

Except he obviously did not feel the same.

She yanked at the doorknob. There was a screech of metal on metal, and the door reluctantly gave. The room inside was dark and from the sudden itching of her nose quite dusty as well.

“Stay,” she said to Plum, unsure if he’d obey, but the dog looked in the room and promptly sat on the floor outside.

Elspeth crossed the room to pull back the heavy drapes over the window. The fabric disintegrated in her hands, half of the curtains falling to the floor. Dim sunlight struggled through the dirty panes of glass.

Julian kept so much of himself hidden. She had to tiptoe around his walls, careful to not set off any concealed traps, because if she did, his words became cutting.

She looked around the room, which seemed to hold a jumble of furniture. There was a chest, and she knelt by it to lift the lid.

Or attempted to, anyway. The chest was evidently locked.

Elspeth blew a strand of hair away from her face and made a mental note to come back to the chest later. Nearby was a wingback chair with its horsehair stuffing spilling out from several tears. She dutifully felt about in the stuffing and surprised a nest of mice but found no diary. She searched the rest of the room—quite tediously—but found nothing save more mice.

By this time, Elspeth felt covered in filth. She glanced down at her sturdy dress and realized she’d have to sponge it off or risk trailing dust everywhere she went.

Which meant going down to the kitchens. She rose to her feet and stomped defiantly out of the storage room. If Mr. Greycourt was in the kitchen, it was only his own fault that he’d see her. After all, she couldn’t stay away from their only source of food.

But the ground floor was empty, and the library door had been closed when she passed it.

The kitchen proved to be empty as well, which Elspeth should’ve been relieved by but was not. An old clock sat on a cupboard shelf, and she could see it was only four of the clock. Mr. Greycourt probably wouldn’t have need to enter the kitchen before supper, which was hours away.

Elspeth stirred up the dying embers from this morning’s fire and added more wood until it was well ablaze. Plum trotted over and slumped on the hearth. She hung a full kettle of water over the fire to warm.

She turned to the kitchen table and began undressing. Her cap was a sad gray, as was the apron pinned to her bodice. Her kerchief was equally dingy, but the jacket beneath wasn’t entirely dusty—it just needed a good shaking out. Her skirt was the worst, but the quilted petticoat was also dirty around the hem. Her bum roll was fine, which was good because she had no idea how to wash it.

Elspeth wore only her stockings, shoes, stays, and chemise as she examined her poor wardrobe. The linens she bundled and set by the fire. They would need a proper wash. She shook the jacket into a dark corner of the kitchen. Properly she should do it outside, but just the thought of standing in the cold wind in her underclothes made her shiver. She’d just have to remember to sweep the kitchen when she was done.

Beating and sponging her skirt and petticoat was hard work, but they looked much better when she was done. It took another hour to wash her linens and sweep the floor. She was too tired to fill the bathtub, but she could wash her hair and face at least.

The warm water felt lovely on her cheeks, and she was just about to comb through her clean but wet hair when she heard a footstep behind her.

“What are you doing?”