Chapter Fourteen
Closing his eyes he thanked the fates for their impeccable timing. He kissed her long and hard. Kissed her while his heart beat crazily against his ribs and his lonely soul filled with hope.
“Are you sure?”
In answer she took his hand and led him to the door of the parlor. They walked into the hall, past Rollands, who still held Oliver’s coat. Lisbeth nodded towards her butler and headed up the stairs. Oliver spared a quick glance behind him as he followed Lisbeth.
Her butler was gone.
He let her lead him down the hall. When they stopped outside her door, she turned, reached up, and kissed him. Her lips were warm and soft, her kiss slow and lingering, her fingers curled into his hair. It made his insides do a jig and his cock stir from its slumber.
It was the first time she had kissed him on the mouth. Lisbeth was initiating this intimacy. He sensed her need to be in command of what was to happen. The idea appealed to him, excited him, but he worried about his own control. He had to tread carefully here.
When she broke the kiss and let her hands drop, he felt bereft. He instantly tried to gather her back into his arms, but she had opened her door and walked in. He followed. He looked around briefly.
“The room is a little stark, isn’t it?” she said. Her face was sad. He hated seeing her sad.
“It isn’t so bad. It is most annoying to bump into a veritable obstacle course of furniture on the way to one’s bed. Don’t you agree?”
“Such a layout would be troublesome, I’m sure.”
“Fraught with all sorts of dangers,” he said, his voice lowering to a husky whisper.
She smiled, placing her small hands on his chest and moving them over his jacket. Her questing fingers found the buttons and set to work freeing them. He remembered another time when her hands had been busy at his buttons.
“What? Why are you smirking?” she asked.
“I am hoping you are not simply going to attempt to correct the slowness of my timepiece.”
She gave a little laugh, obviously remembering the scene in the parlor on their first night. “I have come to learn that neither time nor you, Lord Bellamy, like to be constrained.”
“Time flies when one is having fun. Who am I to clip its wings?”
She nodded. “Sometimes time is your friend and sometimes it’s not.
In my case I had to learn to use it for protection.
I know you don’t understand, and I don’t want to talk about it right now.
” Her nimble fingers made short work of his jacket and waistcoat.
Peeling each item off his body she placed them on top of the chair by the fire with infinite care.
She watched him through her thick lashes as she undid his cravat and placed it on top of his other clothes.
He found he couldn’t move. Like a dream, he seemed to be observing his own seduction, and it was fascinating.
Not wanting it to end he decided to do nothing she didn’t direct him to do.
He thought it might be difficult but when she started to kiss his neck, his shoulder, his breastbone where his shirt lay open, he realized it may be impossible to give her what she wanted.
A man was just blood, bone, and randy flesh, after all.
Every muscle in his body was fighting not to take her in his arms and crush her against him, rip her clothes from her body, and ravish her within an inch of her life. He also knew such an act would not do, not for this woman.
Not for his woman.
His eyes widened in recognition of his thoughts.
The fact that she had her fingers down there, in the midst of chaos, so to speak, wasn’t helping.
He wanted to stop her, still her fingers, but she brushed them so softly over him through the fall of his pantaloons that his head fell back in abandon with a groan.
He recited his catechism—Lord forgive him for the bits he simply made up. Eventually he could stand no more of her torture, as sweet as it was. He stilled her hand.
“Lisbeth,” he warned.
It did not deter her, despite the fact that her name came out more as a growl.
She simply moved on. He felt with agonizing clarity the rest of his clothing leave his body, scraping and grazing over sensitive nerves and skin.
He kicked off his shoes, thankful that boots were not attire worn to the theater.
He now stood before her naked and proudly erect.
The need to be one with her was infinitely more powerful than he had expected.
He was hard and throbbing, just for her.
He wanted to say things to her, lover’s words, but he didn’t want to scare her off.
As confident as her actions appeared he knew how much this cost her.
Was she doing all this for him, so he wouldn’t have to be noble?
Sweet, sweet Lisbeth. He cupped her cheeks and kissed her softly and with everything he had to give.
He lifted his head and looked at her. She took a step back and looked over him with those amazing eyes of hers. Had she felt it too? That rush of feeling, of one’s heart filling with infinite hope and joy.
Her expression was changing to… alarm.
Apparently not hope and joy then.
Her expression was dismayed, like she couldn’t believe they were doing this. She looked down at him, looked directly at it, standing so proudly before her, and… giggled.
Giggled! Now it was his turn to look horrified. What the hell? Everything looked in order to him, quite impressively in order, actually. Perhaps that was the problem. He frowned and shoved both legs back into his pants in record time. He should have known it was too soon for her.
“No, please!” She grabbed his wrist, and he left his pants unbuttoned. “I’m sorry. I’m… I’m just so nervous,” she said, her face blushing a furious red.
“You giggled at my—”
“I didn’t! I mean I wasn’t giggling at it.” She tried to pull him towards her. “It’s lovely, really.”
“Lovely? Lovely! I don’t think so. Your breasts are lovely, your hair is lovely, and your eyes are particularly lovely. This,” he pointed at it shaking his head, “is not lovely!”
He placed his hands on his hips and gave her a displeased look. A man could only take so much… description.
“Oliver.” She took a step towards him.
“Lisbeth,” he replied, holding up a hand to stop her from advancing or, horror of horrors, describing further.
She sighed and flashed her eyes at him. “Fine, it is not lovely.”
That’s my girl, he thought.
“In fact it is rather… cylindrical.”
Cylindrical? Oh, please. “That will be enough of that—ever. Are you sure you want to go ahead with this?”
She nodded and put her hand on his chest, curling her fingers into his chest hair.
“I can’t help seeing that this situation is very lopsided,” he said. “Besides, I am getting damn chilly standing here like one of Elgin’s marbles.”
“You certainly seem made of marble,” she said, moving her fingertips lightly over his pectoral muscles. He made them dance up and down and she laughed. He loved it when she laughed. He wanted to make her laugh forever.
“I’ve seen the statue of David, you know. When I was thirteen, our parents took Marie and me to Florence for the summer. I loved Italy—the art, the music—but I don’t think my parents knew what we were in for when we visited the Galleria dell’Accademia. My mother nearly fainted.”
“So, now I look like David?” Could this get any worse?
“Heavens no, you are much more… impressive.”
He burst out laughing and reached for her.
“Cheeky baggage! Later you may tutor me in Italian sculpture but for now let us correct this imbalance immediately. I do believe I have a few poetic descriptions of my own to make.” He turned her around and began undoing her gown.
She laughed again when he cursed at the number of buttons and tabs he found as each layer was revealed.
“There had better not be some kind of medieval chastity belt under here. A man can only perform so many miracles in one night, you know,” he growled into her ear.
She laughed. “Oh, I don’t know, you seem to be capable of many miraculous things.”
“I do have a trick or two up my sleeve, and the night is young.”
Then he kissed her from just under her ear to the point of her shoulder, pushing her chemise down her arms at the same time.
He marveled at the softness of her skin, the smell of her, the taste of her.
Goose bumps rose on her skin where his lips had been.
He nipped and licked the slender column of her neck.
“Oh, that’s nice. That is very, very nice,” she said, with a shaky quiver in her voice.
He liked the way her body reacted to him.
Half-undressed like this, she could not hide from him.
She could not say she did not want him, did not need him, as he needed her.
The evidence was all over her curvaceous body, in the delectable rosy hue that stained her flesh.
He could smell her arousal mingled with a subtle hint of roses and lemon drops.
It was a scented net set to tempt him. She needed no such traps to snare him. Tonight he gave himself up willingly.
His heart sped up considerably at the sight of her breasts as he exposed them to his gaze.
Her nipples puckered in the cool air. He had held her magnificent breasts before, in the darkness of Selbourne’s armoire, but seeing was so much better.
He sent a quick thank you towards the heavens that he had not been blinded while at war.
Then he placed his hands on them. They fit perfectly in his large hands, and he squeezed them with the reverence they deserved.
He paid homage to them, licking and sucking until Lisbeth was gasping.
She was better than pudding, he decided, which was a bizarre thought considering the circumstances and considering how much he loved pudding! He banished such ridiculous thoughts in quick order. He had a beautiful woman in his arms and a hunger that could only be satisfied by her.