The Science of Seduction #3
Harriet wondered what he was so pleased about. His contraption looked useless and messy to her. Whatever could it be for?
A blackbird started up behind her, its pretty song reminding her she was spying when she shouldn’t have been. But she couldn’t help herself.
What is he doing?
He added another log to his fire and then fisted his shirt between his shoulder blades and dragged it over his head.
“Oh!” She clasped her hand over her mouth. His hair was standing at all angles now and it matched the scrawl of dark curls in the center of his chest that led down to his navel and beyond.
Her mouth dried and she gripped the doorframe a little tighter. She had never seen a shirtless duke before. His skin was tan and the muscles on his shoulders were wider and thicker than she’d expected his to be. And his abdomen—it was taut, tight flesh over defined strength.
I should leave now.
She knew that in the depths of her core. She was prying in a most unwholesome and unladylike way.
He turned a long, metal lever and suddenly, water splashed onto the tray. It was falling from the pail, which obviously had small holes in it. And the water was hot, steam rising from it.
Jasper grinned and yanked off his brown, leather shoes. He tossed them aside, forgotten. And then went his socks, and finally, he pushed down his breeches and stepped out of them.
Harriet gasped.
He was utterly naked, his thick cock hanging from more dark hair and his wide, strong thighs flexing as he stepped under the hot water.
Harriet’s heart rate rocketed and the sound of her pulse in her ears competed with what appeared to be a groan of pleasure from him.
He lifted his face to the water and pushed his hair back. Slowly, he turned beneath the warm rain shower he’d created.
Harriet was fascinated by the rivers and streams that flowed down the gutter of his spine and through the crack of his high, pert buttocks. His body hair was flattened now and his skin shone.
A strange heat went through her, admiration, captivation, an appreciation of a well-honed male body.
Leave, Harriet. Now.
She quashed down her instinct. He had reached for tablet of yellow soap and now, with his eyes closed and facing her, he was lathering white suds all over his body. The warm water must have been heavenly pattering on his skin and the scent of lemon filtered toward her.
He scrubbed his face and then around his neck. Went lower as the water washed the suds away immediately. He washed his underarms, over his chest and then his cock. His movements were industrious and swift and the watery, white bubbles collected at his feet.
Harriet’s body was reacting, almost as if the water were cascading down her own skin. Her nipples tightened and her spine tingled.
Suddenly, he turned around, reached for the lever again, and flicked it down.
The water stopped immediately and he snatched up a towel.
Harriet. Go. Now.
This time, she listened to the voice in her head. It was too loud to ignore. She knew full well if he caught her, she’d see his temper.
And she didn’t fancy that. Her father, God rest his soul, had had a terrible temper, to which Mother and Harriet had gone to great lengths to keep at bay.
She turned, scooting back past the pampas grass, the blackbird retreating with an alarm call, and then gathered the hem of her dress. She broke into a run, her feet sinking in the soft lawn, and raced past the huge fountain. The spray caught her hot cheeks and she turned toward the house.
There was no one around now, the staff having retreated. She did the same, taking the stairs at a swift pace and locking herself in her bedchamber.
What had she just seen?
Who on earth had she married?
Emily had ensured a full bathtub had been prepared for her and set before a fire. The day was warm, the fire unnecessary, but she was glad of it as she started undressing. On the surface of the water, tiny lavender petals floated and their scent was comforting, reminding her of home.
It took a few minutes, but eventually, Emily had helped her out of her wedding dress and taken all of the pins from her hair.
Harriet dismissed her new lady’s maid and stepped into the warm water. As she lowered her body, she wished she were under a stream of water rather than soaking. She wanted to experience hot rain tapping onto her head and shoulders. Running over her breasts and between her legs.
A tablet of soap had been left for her. Like Jasper’s, it was yellow and when she wet it, the lemony scent filled her nose.
She closed her eyes and was instantly hit with the image of his naked, wet body. Her husband was in fine shape—that couldn’t be denied. If he weren’t such a reclusive, untidy eccentric, perhaps they’d be able to form a connection.
Maybe her marital duties as a wife wouldn’t be so awful.
She cleaned her face and then rubbed the soap over first her left and then her right breast. Her nipples were still hard, little peaks and she twisted them gently.
The sensation slipped to between her legs and when she rubbed the soap there, she sighed and craved one of the gasping climaxes she’d learned to give herself.
“Mmm.” She rested her head back and searched out her little pleasure bud.
As she rotated over it, the water sloshed gently and the fire crackled.
She parted her thighs and took her time.
There was no rush. Her husband was busy in his workshop, the door was locked, and she had no dinner to prepare for this evening.
The pressure began to build in her belly and her cunny tightened. She curled her toes and worked herself faster.
Suddenly, as the urgency built, an image of Jasper naked under the showering water sprung into her mind.
She recalled the image of his cock. She wasn’t na?ve—Mother had told her what her wifely duties would entail—but she couldn’t imagine that thing would fit inside her.
How big and heavy it would feel. She’d be so stretched and filled and consumed by it.
Clearly, her body wasn’t as concerned as her mind, because the thought of him thrusting deep had her climax hovering on the edge.
She grabbed it and bit on her bottom lip as pleasure burst through her body.
Water splashed to the rug and tendrils of her hair slipped to the surface and soaked through.
“Oh…oh…” She bucked her hips and eased out the last of the bliss. Her cunny was pulsing and her skin was hot, perspiration sitting on her upper lip.
“Oh, my.” She opened her eyes and stared at the window. Dusk was bleeding over the sky, turning it mauve and lilac and pink. A wave of tiredness dropped over her. It’d been a long day and may well be a long night if her husband decided to consummate their marriage.
At least she was bathed now and smelling of lemon and lavender. If he came to her, she’d close her eyes and think of England until that big thing of his was up there.
*
Harriet fell into a deep slumber in her large four-poster bed. The room was warm and quiet and the mattress heavenly and soft. The sheets were fine, white linen and slid silkily against her freshly bathed skin.
When she woke, she reached for the glass of flavored cordial on the side cabinet and took a long drink. The curtains were as she’d left them, half-drawn, and now she could see that the first light of the morning was catching the tips of the distant trees.
It was too early for any staff to be up, so she got out of bed and then over her nightdress, pulled on a dressing gown that was hanging beside the door. It was cotton and delicately embroidered with small, colorful birds, their streamer tails overly long and flamboyant.
Her stomach rumbled and she pressed it. Harriet always woke up starving.
A terrible trait, her mother said. But there was nothing she could do about it.
Even a late supper resulted in yowls of complaint from her belly as soon as she opened her eyes.
And this morning, with no supper at all, the protests were even louder.
She needed to eat.
Opening the door to the landing, she peered out. The portraits stared ahead and a grandfather clock to her left ticked rhythmically. She made her way down the stairs.
When she reached the bottom, a tabby cat darted past her and into the ballroom. A vase of pink roses released a powdery scent and she walked past them, headed in the direction of what she thought was the kitchen.
When she reached it, she found the door was slightly ajar. Her stomach growled again and she stepped in, hoping there were tasty morsels to be found.
“Oh…” She stopped in her tracks. “Good morning.”
Her husband, seated at a large, pine table, looked up. He didn’t pause eating what appeared to be a meaty broth.
“You are up early.” Harriet felt suddenly wholly underdressed in her nightwear and gown. She hadn’t even brushed her hair.
He wiped his mouth on a white napkin and stood, clearing his throat. “I bid you a good morn, too, Harriet.” He gestured to his meal. “Supper. I forgot to eat it…before.” He circled his hand in the air. “Whenever that was.”
“So you are having it for breakfast?” She folded her arms and tried not to think of him naked beneath the water. “Meat and potato broth.”
“Breakfast?” He frowned. “What time is it?”
“According to the clock on the landing, it is nearly six. The staff are not even up yet.”
He clicked his tongue on the roof of his mouth then sat and resumed eating. “Six. It is no wonder I am famished.”
“Have you been to bed this night?” She stopped herself from adding that it was usual tradition for a groom to join his wife in the bedchamber on their wedding night.
He pushed his hand through his mop of dark hair, which appeared to have not seen a comb for some time. “I was just about to. I thought it was…the time… I don’t know what I thought. I was busy.”
“In your workshop?”
“Yes.” He set down his fork. “And you should know that is out of bounds. All the staff here know that and obey.”
“I am hardly staff.” She cut a slice of bread from yesterday’s loaf and stared at him. “Am I?”