Chapter 19
Chapter Nineteen
Ariadne felt herself gazing up at Cedric; the unmarred half of his face was cast in shadow, the scarred part of his face in the light. A few weeks ago, she would have run, terrified out of her mind, but now, she saw past the scars.
The emotion in his eyes said more than the ruin of his skin.
The knot of anxiousness inside her loosened, and guided by instinct, she kissed him with all the passion he was pulling from inside her.
Eagerness and inexperience made her actions clumsy, but it didn’t matter because he soon took control.
He slowed her frantic kisses with slower moves, showed her how to twine her tongue with him, and how to pace herself to enjoy the heat that sizzled through her.
Her fingers dug into the back of his hard shoulders, her knees bracketing his hips, and yet still she was desperate to get closer. When his mouth left hers, she made a sound of protest.
“Easy, mouse.” His soft laugh made her blush hot… then he drew the lobe into his mouth.
The touch she was unprepared for made her groan as his tongue flicked back and forth over the delicate shell, the caress hardening the tips of her breasts, causing a flutter between her thighs.
He played with her breast simultaneously, rolling the swollen tip between his finger and thumb. The sensations spread from her breasts, building and building, until every fiber of her vibrated with need.
She was wearing countless layers, a thick chemise, stays, and starched petticoats, not to mention her thick, heavy velvet dress.
“Devil and damn,” he muttered, his strong touch titillating the taut peaks of her breasts, rubbing them against the cage of stiffened fabric. It was sensational and torturous. “How many bolts of cloth are you wearing?”
His hand slipped from her breast to slip up her silk-stocking clad leg while his lips coasted over her jaw and neck, pleasure ruffling up her spine.
She was not sure what to ask for or how to put words to the feeling inside her body. She didn’t know how to get relief, but she trusted that he could.
“I feel…” she whispered.
“What?” The scrape of his beard over her cheek made her shiver.
“Ermmm…” she paused. “Wet?”
His head lifted, “I can take care of that. I’ll give you what you need. Trust me, Ariadne.”
His lips met her cheek while his hot palm landed on her sensitive inner thigh, his fingers drifting toward the shadowed crevice just beyond.
She gasped and held onto him as his finger parted her silky nest, then ran a finger along her swollen folds and up to her secret rosebud.
“Christ, you’re wet,” he murmured.
He found her pearl, and while he rubbed her, eased his middle finger into her untried passage. “You’re so small and tight.”
Pleasure shuddered through her as he varied pace, pressure, and stroke to maximize her pleasure. Her control began to unravel as the whirling tension built, gathering in the wanton peak that throbbed for his touch.
It didn’t take long for her to shatter: she’d been on the edge from the start. When she went over with a cry, he claimed her mouth and swallowed it.
As Ariadne slowly floated down to earth, several facts entered her awareness. One, she’d just felt a blissful high she had never known existed; it even felt as if the earth had stopped moving for a moment.
Second, Cedric was lying heavily between her thighs, his face buried in her neck, his hot breath coasting over her ear. Third, his finger was still inside her, and she clenched over it, knowing that when they did consummate the marriage, something much bigger would be inside her.
So, this is what all the fuss is about.
Surprisingly, she realized that the shame and embarrassment she felt that she would feel… were conspicuously absent. In their place was a languor she’d never known before, a sense of rightness.
Tenderly, she stroked through his hair, the thick dark hair slid through her fingers like rough silk. He lifted his head, and, staring into his glimmering gem eyes, she smiled.
“Lessons, you say?” she asked.
“It is the best way to get you acclaimed to sexual pleasure,” he said while sitting up.
Rubbing her throat, Ariadne asked, “… When is the next lesson?”
Cedric roared with laughter while he pulled her to his side. “I’ve created a monster.”
“So,” Clara rested her teacup down. “I must ask, your message was unclear. What do you mean by needing nightclothes?”
It was two days after her first tryst with Cedric, and while she treasured that moment, she did not forget his comment about her nightclothes.
“It seems my nightclothes are… voluminous.” She said bashfully.
Clara’s delicate brows knotted in two, “How big are they?”
“Come with me?” Ariadne stood and left the tearoom for her bedroom while Clara was in step with her.
Entering the bedchamber, she headed to her wardrobe while Clara’s eyes roamed over the walls and furniture, even stepping forward to trace her fingers over the gilt on a framed portrait.
Finding one of the garments in question, Ariadne turned around and unfurled the night-rail. “This is what I mean.”
Clara’s mouth dropped, “How many—how many flounces and frills are on that thing?” She stepped forward and grasped the body of the nightgown. “This has enough cloth, ruffles, flounces, and trimmings to adorn every girl in the orphanage you patronize. How many buttons are on this?”
“I don’t know,” Ariadne sighed, “Growing up, this is all the style I knew.”
“Fifteen,” Clara gasped in horror. “Fifteen buttons. Goodness gracious. It’s an army of restriction.”
“Restriction?” Ariadne blinked.
Clara folded the nightgown. “What if your husband has one of those moments when ardor takes over, and he wants to initiate intimacy, and this is what he has to battle with? It goes up to your neck, Ariadne.”
She reddened. “I was told modesty was the best attribute in a marriage.”
“Outside, yes.” Clara chuckled, “But not in the bedroom. Please do not tell me that you have drawers with this, too.”
“Erm, yes,” Ariadne replied, her face positively aflame. “The point is, I need your help to find a way where he overlooks these things?”
“I have a way,” Clara laughed, “It involves a firepit and a match.”
Sinking to a seat, Ariadne covered her face with both hands, “Oh, God.”
Her friend dropped a soft hand on her shoulder, “Don’t get your hair in a twist. I know exactly where to go to help. But I must ask, do you only want nightclothes?”
It took her a moment to get her friend's meaning. “You think my dresses are not good enough?”
Clara gave her a sympathetic smile, “They are a bit homey and dated, for your position, I think you need to get a step above the rest.” Seated near her, Clara said, “Knowing your circumstances and the talk about you that is already circling the Ton, you do not need to give them another reason to gossip.”
Ariadne was not so sure about that.
“Let's start with the nightclothes first,” she said.
“The modiste on Bond Street,” Clara said. “At first, she started only with unmentionables, but she does gowns if she is persuaded enough.”
“That sounds…” Ariadne didn’t know the fitting word. “…challenging. Is it hard to get an appointment?”
“Usually, yes,” Clara smiled widely, “But it just happens that I have an appointment tomorrow afternoon with Modiste Redmonde and you shall accompany me.”
“Do you truly think she’ll find something for me at such short notice?” Ariadne asked doubtfully.
Grinning, Clara took up the folded nightgown, “I guarantee that she will take one look at you and devote her week to recreating you.”
If Cedric does have a lover somewhere… why does he look at me as if he wants to devour me? Could this all be a cruel jest, or is it a brazen mockery?
“Ms. Aria?” Emily poked her head into Ariadne’s drawing room that night.
Startled, Ariadne shot a look at the clock on her mantle and gaped at the time, then turned to the young girl.
The girl entered the room, her dark curls had been combed and twisted into rag-rolls, concealed beneath a lace cap, her wide amber eyes were beneath a mountain of frills, lace, and embroidered bedclothes.
“Yes, Emily?”
She had three books in hand, and the heft and height of them had Ariadne scrambling from her desk to take them from her.
“Goodness,” Ariadne said as she rested the books on her table. “What are you doing with these at this hour?”
Emily’s face fell. “Papa usually reads to me before bed, but he is not here anymore, and I can’t sleep without being read to.”
Sympathy warmed Ariadne’s heart, “Do you want me to read to you, sweetheart?”
“Would you?” Emily perked up. “Please.”
“I’d love to,” Ariadne replied before closing her ledger, then looked at the stack of books Emily had brought in. “Which of these books do you want?”
“Gulliver’s Travels.” Emily hopped off her chair and turned to the door. “We’re on chapter two.”
Plucking the book up, Ariadne realized the spine was broken in, and the pages had finger marks. Clearly, this book was loved.
She followed Emily through the lit corridor and to the nursery wing; the hallway lamps had been lit with light flooding the room. After resting the book on the bedside table, she pulled the blankets and sheets aside for Emily to get in.
Tucking the child in, she fixed the cap on Emily’s head. “Comfortable?”
“Yes,” Ariadne reached for the book, opened it to the page, and began to read.
“When I found myself on my feet, I looked about me, and must confess I never beheld a more entertaining prospect. The country around appeared like a continued garden, and the enclosed fields, which were generally forty feet square, resembled so many beds of flowers.”
As she settled into the story, it took her back to the nights when she would read to Marigold, her favorite book, The Three Princesses, over and over again.
“He is taller by almost the breadth of my nail than any of his court, which alone is enough to strike an awe into the beholders. His features are strong and masculine, with an Austrian lip and arched nose, his complexion olive, his countenance erect, his body and limbs well proportioned, all his motions graceful, and his deportment majestic.” Ariadne said.
“I hope this does not make you obsessed with books and fictional men like my sister Marigold,” Ariadne muttered.
“I’d prefer if she did, at least I wouldn’t be tempted to walk around with a shotgun,” Cedric’s humored voice came from the doorway, making her heart leap into her throat.
She looked over her shoulder and thanked goodness that it was dark so he would not see her admiring him in his disheveled evening clothes. His hair looked raked through, his cravat loose around his throat as he leaned into the doorjamb with a glass of sherry in hand.
“Oh, am I interrupting?” he asked, softly.
Emily flung back the covers and leaped out of bed, running to her father. “Father, you’re home.”
Cedric lifted the small girl to his arms. “I apologize, pumpkin. The other lords at Westminster are very frustrating, and it took me a long time to make them see sense. It’s over now, and I will not be missing story time again.”
“I missed you,” Emily said while liberally yawning.
Cedric crossed the room and gently deposited Emily back on the bed. He kissed her forehead, then said, “Now, let Ariadne finish your story and go to bed.”
As he stepped away, he said, “When you are finished, find me in my study.”
She smiled, “It’s good to see you.”
“You too,” he said before ducking out of the room.
Returning to the story, Ariadne did her best to steady her voice and the thudding in her chest. Finding her place again, she asked, “Shall we continue?”
In his study, Cedric poured another glass of sherry as he shucked his cravat onto the couch before he sank into it and stretched his legs out near the fire.
He tried to temper the dull headache growing at the back of his head, right at the tip of his spine. Pressing the glass to his temple, he let out a long breath, grateful for the cold breeze fluttering his drapes.
He heard the soft squeak of the door but didn’t bother opening his eyes. “Is she asleep?”
“Soundly,” Ariadne replied. “How are you feeling?”
“Bloody fatigued,” he replied. “I am so glad this session is over. If I return to Westminster, I will burn the damn House down and dance on its ashes.”
Her soft giggles had him peeling an eye open. In the soft light, Ariadne looked like a mythical sprite. “I do not think they’ll appreciate that,” she said.
“Thank you for reading to Emily,” he said. “If I cannot do it, please take over.”
“Why, thank you,” she said dryly. “Do you think we can restart the breakfast meetings?”
“After two days’ worth of sleep,” he said while getting up. “Join me for a drink?”
Eyes brightening, she nodded, and he quickly poured two glasses of sherry before joining her in the chairs by the fire. Drink in hand, he sank against the cushions. “We can start again before I collapse in bed.”
“It has come to my attention that I must throw another ball.” He sighed. “I do not want to, but Silas is assuring me that to display all rumors and show a combined front against the naysayer.”
Her heart began to beat oddly. “When do you want to host this ball?”
“Not for the next two weeks, I hope,” he said. “I must let you know, I am trying to track down my squirrel of a brother so he can account for his crime.”
Her heart twisted, “You don’t need to do that.”
“Yes, I do.” He said firmly. “You’re not the only one he embarrassed that day.”
Ariadne opened her mouth to reiterate her position on leaving Leander alone— but the mulish look on Cedric’s face told her that no matter how much she would plead with him, he was not going to budge.
“Just…” she worried her bottom lip. “Don’t be too hard on him.”
He set his glass down and cocked his head to the left. His stare made her want to squirm in her chair. Finally, he shook his head, “You’re too kind for your own good. Leander does not get to run off into the sunset without the carriage derailing.”
She saw the exhaustion drawing on his face knew he was going to go off soon. “Tomorrow afternoon, Lady Hamden and I are going off to London.”
His brows lifted. “That’s good. Enjoy yourself.”
Ariadne asked, “Is there anything I can do for you?”
Rubbing his face, he asked, “I—I’d like it if you would stay with me. In my bed. Only for sleep. Nothing much.” His words were punctuated with staccato. He took in a deep breath. “If you want to, that is.”
Ariadne smiled. “I’d love to.”
Settling in, she rested close to him; she was assured that those notes were only mischief.