Eight Hunting Lyons (The Lyon’s Den Connected World)

Chapter Thirty

Enjoying the Mistress Suite

Meanwhile, at the Audley townhouse in Mayfair

“W hen would you like to marry?” Charles asked as he escorted Amy up the stairs to the mistress suite. She held a candle lamp in one hand to light their way, but the servants had already seen to lighting the corridor’s wall sconces.

“I suppose we must wait for a few weeks,” Amy said. “But do you suppose I could move in right away? I would love to become acquainted with the staff. Learn what I must to run the household.”

Charles thrilled at hearing her query. “I would like that. We can have Pickering contact an agency to find a lady’s maid for you, and for propriety’s sake, I can remain at Leicester House until we’re wed—”

“Or we can simply let everyone assume we are already wed,” she countered. “Just married and moving into our new home.”

“Your mother would know—”

“She no longer has a say in my life, Charles. She gave up that right earlier this evening,” Amy countered quietly. “Major Culkins made it clear you are my protector now.”

“Happy to be so,” Charles replied. “I can secure a marriage license in the morning,” he added as he opened the door to the bedchamber next to his. “Here you are.”

He allowed Amy to step into the room ahead of him, thinking the candle lamp would be necessary to light their way.

Apparently, the servants expected she would be staying there that evening.

The fireplace was lit, several candle lamps were ablaze, and the bed linens had been turned down.

Amy laughed as she spun around. “It’s beautiful.”

“It is pink,” Charles whispered, although he loved how the pink of the silk-covered walls combined with the golden light of the fires to bathe Amy in a glorious glow.

“But not overly so,” she countered as one of her hands smoothed over the tops of the dresser and the dressing table. She stopped before a bureau to admire a walnut inlaid box. “May I open it?” she asked.

“Of course,” Charles said, his own attention on the jewel box that adorned the dressing table.

Faint music erupted from the walnut box, and Amy inhaled softly. “It’s a music box,” she said, looking down on the mechanism inside. Tines plucked the protrusions on a gold cylinder that rotated, sending out the strains of a lullaby. “I saw one once in Brussels.”

Charles grinned at her enthusiasm, but his attention was on the jewel box she had opened. Inside were a half-dozen rings, a collection of earbobs, and a few strands of pearls. If there was a key in there, it wasn’t immediately evident.

When the music box stuttered and emitted a discordant sound, Amy gasped. “There’s something in here,” she said, pulling the box closer to the front of the bureau. “A key,” she said as she reached in and pulled it out.

Joining her, Charles took the key from her and chuckled. “Oh, Aunt Adeline.”

“What does it open?”

“Our future,” he replied as he pulled her hard against the front of his body.

Charles settled his lips onto hers, their tongues quickly tangling.

Amy speared her fingers through his hair as she moaned and finally pulled away. “I have no intention of sleeping alone in that bed,” she whispered.

“Well, then I suppose I shall be joining you since I would rather you didn’t share it with a footman.”

She giggled softly. “Make me yours tonight,” she said in a quiet voice. “Make love to me.”

Charles inhaled slowly. “I will do the very best that I can,” he replied, finally giving up his hold on her. He moved to the door and closed it, throwing the bolt lock. “But remember that my leg may—”

“You’ll do fine,” she interrupted. She turned her back to him. “But first you have to undo my buttons.”

“All right,” he answered, his breath coming faster. He managed the fastenings, his fingers fumbling on a couple of the buttons.

Amy giggled as she turned around and undid his uniform coat buttons. “I don’t care if you think me fast,” she announced. “Well, I mean, I do—”

Charles’s lips cut off the rest of what she was about to say, kissing her with an urgency that surprised her.

When he pulled away, he rested his forehead against hers. “I don’t think you fast,” he replied in a whisper. “As long as you don’t think I’m taking advantage, because, well, truth be told, I am.”

Amy was already undoing his waistcoat buttons, her eyes darkening with desire. “Pretend we’re already married.”

“I love you,” he blurted. “My very own angel.”

She inhaled softly as she paused on the last button. “And I love you, Captain Audley.”

“Charles,” he whispered. “Call me Charles,” he added as he slid her sleeves down her arms.

Amy pushed his coat from his body and regarded his shirt as if it was a challenge.

Charles stripped the shirt off and then kissed her collarbones as his fingers struggled with her corset strings.

Gasping at the sight of his bare chest—she had seen it in the field hospital, but under entirely different circumstances—Amy smoothed her hands over the sprinkling of dark curls that covered his chest, even as she leaned back to allow him the room to undo the corset. “Promise me you won’t leave the bed in the middle of the night,” she whispered.

Pausing in his task, Charles stared at her. “Why ever would I leave?”

Amy shrugged. “I hear that wives and husbands of the aristocracy sleep in separate beds,” she replied. “Your brother is an earl.”

“Good thing I am not,” he said as he pushed the corset down her body. “But even if I was, I would wish to spend the entire night in the same bed as you.”

“Oh,” she managed as she stepped out of the corset.

“May I?” he asked as he clutched the hem of her chemise.

“Will you be removing the rest of your clothes?”

Charles glanced down, wincing at how his engorged member was silhouetted in his pantaloons. “I assure you, I am removing all of it,” he said as he struggled to release the first one and then the other of his boots from his feet. A moment later, he had his stockings off. “You have a distinct advantage,” he accused as he moved about the room extinguishing the candle lamps. The fireplace continued to put out enough light to see by.

“How is that?” she asked.

“You’ve already seen me naked.”

“I have not,” she said. “At least, not all at once.”

“Well, then you best close your eyes.”

Before she could do so, Charles pushed his pantaloons down his legs and stepped out of them.

He was thankful for the golden glow that colored his otherwise pale skin, thankful for the warmth the fire provided to keep his member erect.

Her hand wrapped around it much as it had that night in the field hospital, her thumb covering the wet tip as her grip tightened.

Charles cursed, sure he wouldn’t make it to the bed. “I wish to pleasure you first.”

She was about to put a voice to a complaint—he had seen to her pleasure in the coach the day before—but she was suddenly in his arms and then on the bed with his body atop hers. “Charles,” she whispered in alarm.

Through the silk of her chemise, he captured one of her nipples, and she inhaled sharply. Inhaled again when he moved his attention to the other nipple. Gasped when the hem of her chemise was pushed up the front of her body and his hands reached beneath the globes of her bottom. When he lifted them, her knees fell apart, and his head was suddenly between her thighs.

His tongue found that place where his thumb had rubbed, flicking across her most private place over and over until she could no longer breathe. And then it was inside, sending waves of pleasure deep within her he could feel.

She was sure she couldn’t take much more. Sure she would faint from the intensity of it all. So, when she said, “I cannot…,” she was relieved when Charles ceased his ministrations. He appeared above her, his expression a combination of satisfaction and concern.

“I do not wish to hurt you,” he murmured at the same moment the tip of his manhood nudged the space where his tongue had been only the moment before.

Hurt her? She couldn’t imagine what he might do that could hurt her. Every nerve ending seemed to send darts of pleasure. Waves of wonder.

When he entered her, she understood his concern. His manhood filled her near to bursting, stretching her in a manner that was, at first, uncomfortable and quite foreign. But after a moment, after she raised her knees to grip his thighs, and he settled more deeply inside her, the discomfort subsided, and Amy understood what to do.

She inhaled softly, grinning at hearing his groan. “It’s all right,” she murmured.

“I can do this if I lean to one side,” he whispered, one of his arms beneath her shoulder to help angle her body.

Understanding what he wanted to do—use his good leg to power his thrusts—Amy realigned her body and lifted her hips to meet his first thrust. At hearing his groan, she did it again, and before long, the two were engaged in the ancient movements that had resulted in intense sensations, powerful pleasures, and generations of children.

When Charles ceased his movements and his face contorted into one that might have been agony or ecstasy, Amy gripped his manhood with her inner muscles, delighting in the wash of warmth that filled her lower body. A sensation of deep pleasure coursed through her, and she cried out. Cried out again when Charles kissed a nipple and then suckled the other before he collapsed atop her.

Although he tried to roll off of her body, he found he couldn’t when she gripped him tighter with her thighs. “I’m squishing you,” he whispered.

“I don’t care,” Amy replied. “Just…just stay where you are.”

Charles thought to voice a reply but fell asleep before he could so.

When he awoke with a start—fingers were combing through his hair, their nails sending a most unusual sensation skittering over his scalp—Charles finally rolled off of Amy and chuckled. “Well, I shall be amenable to do that again.”

Amy smiled. “As will I.” She sat up to capture the edge of the linens and pulled them up and over both their bodies. “May I sleep against you?”

Charles reached an arm behind her shoulders and pulled so she was mostly atop his body, their legs intertwined. “Always.”