Chapter 15 #2
“Lord, let us hope so. Does that mean I will be able to open my studio up for new students again?”
She nudged his side. “Don’t speak as though you have hated teaching me all these years.”
As though he sensed her earnestness, he took her hand between both of his and met her gaze with unusual seriousness.
“Your Grace, it has been my privilege and honor all these years to help guide you.” Anna seated herself at the small pianoforte and began to play.
“And now, if you please, allow me one final dance before you are whisked away forever.”
Thalia allowed herself to be led from her place, laughing as she went. “Don’t be ridiculous. It isn’t like that.”
“Of course it isn’t, my dear. But let me tell you something: a man who rescues a lady the way he has, and who looks at you as though you are a delicacy, will go out of his way to protect you.” Elliot swung her opposite him.
Other couples joined them for their impromptu country dance, and Thalia laughed, happier than she could ever remember being.
This was what she had always aspired toward—feeling as though she had found a place where she could belong. And here, with all her friends, all the people who knew her secret and accepted her just as she was, she had found her place.
“I am so grateful you are my friend,” she told Elliot.
“As always, Your Grace, you offer me far more credit than is due. I have been the means of getting you in some sorry states.” He frowned a little, looking to one side. “I ought to apologize.”
“Nonsense,” Thalia said lightly. “If you had not had some debt issues, I might never have met Maxwell, and then where would I be?”
“Maxwell?” Elliot raised his brows. “Is that what you call him?”
“No teasing,” she warned.
“I would never dare tease you, Your Grace.”
“And stop calling me that. We are still friends, you know. I am the same Thalia that I have always been.”
“My dear,” he said with no little affection, “friends or not, I have always been aware of the difference of rank between us, and I’m afraid that will not change. If anything, it is now more pronounced. But that need not mean we are any less friendly.”
Before Thalia could respond, Maxwell appeared behind Elliot, standing tall enough to loom over the other man. For once, Elliot read the situation remarkably quickly and handed Thalia to him with a bow.
“Why do you not take the opportunity to dance with your wife, Your Grace?”
“Thank you.” Maxwell pulled her into his arms, though the country dances required nothing of the sort. “I will.”
“Maxwell,” she hissed, though at the possessive heat in his eyes, something in her stomach tightened in response. “You cannot lay claim to me here.”
“Why should I watch another man dance with you on our wedding day?” he demanded. “If that’s what you expect from me, then you will be sorely disappointed.”
Thalia bit back a laugh as she looked up into his face. “No,” she conceded. “That is not what I expect from you.”
“I’m losing patience with this entire event,” he said. “Remind me why it is tradition to invite all our friends and family to interrupt our first few hours as man and wife?”
“Because, I imagine, it’s typical to wish to share your happiness with the people closest to you.”
His hand found her waist, and she shivered. “I have a far better idea.”
“Oh?”
“We could leave.” He bent so he murmured the words against the shell of her ear. “Let our nearest and dearest celebrate our marriage as they choose, but without us.”
“How scandalous.”
He looked down at her steadily with that same heat in his eyes. “I want you to myself, Thalia.”
Another shiver ran through her, along with a bolt of excitement. Anticipation. Perhaps he would never have married her if it were not for her father forcing the issue, but there could be no doubting he wanted her.
That was enough.
“We could step out for a moment or two,” she managed.
Taking that as permission enough, Maxwell reached for her hand and slid his fingers through hers. He led her away from the impromptu dance and out of the door into another, smaller room. An oft-neglected parlor.
“This will do,” he said, turning her and pressing her against the wall as he crashed his mouth against hers.
She hadn’t realized how hungry she had been for his kisses until now, when finally, the drought had ended. He was her cool drink of water, a necessary refreshment for her body’s needs.
His mouth was hot, demanding, his tongue flicking across her lower lip in a silent request.
She obeyed, opening her mouth so he might have better access.
He groaned, shifting, already hot and hard between her legs. The feeling of it thrilled and terrified her all at once, as though this desire they shared was larger than either of them could easily handle.
“I have been wanting to do this all day,” he said against her neck as she breathed raggedly, staring at the ceiling. “Even in that damn church.”
“I doubt the bishop would have approved.”
“We are married now. There is very little we can do that he will disapprove of.”
“So long as it is conducted in a private space.”
His hand coasted over her breast, brushing against the sensitive bud of her nipple, and everything inside her contracted. She had been empty for so long.
“This is a private space,” he said, kissing her other neck.
“We have guests.”
“Then I suppose you will have to be quiet.” He uttered the words as a command, a certainty, and although she knew she ought to be horrified, another thrill ran through her at the thought of trying to hold back as Maxwell did everything in his power to compel sound from her.
A competition.
She had always loved a challenge.
She arched her back against the wall as his hand found her hip, guiding her to grind against him. One leg slid between hers, his hard, muscled thigh pressing against her most precious area, and she huffed a sharp sound of shock.
“Quiet,” he reminded her, cupping both her breasts in his big hands now. “It would be a shame if someone heard you.”
They were alone, but this was not the house party she had gone to, where such things were accepted behavior. If someone from the other room discovered them, they would be shocked. Horrified.
And yet Thalia didn’t want to stop. So long as she kept quiet, no one would know a thing, and no one would walk through the house uninvited.
She hoped.
Maxwell pressed harder, and her head fell back against the wall as she bit her lip, holding back a gasp.
“That’s right,” he growled in her ear. “Move against me. Chase your pleasure, sweetheart.”
Her mind was a tangle of pleasure-filled thoughts and an edge of nervousness that someone would find them, after all.
That apprehension merely made the pleasure more acute.
She felt as though the thrill of being caught would make everything happen faster and more intensely.
With his hand on her hip, guiding her, she ground against his thigh, positioned in such a way that she could roll against him, every motion bringing that flare of climax closer.
This was not her first time with him; she knew, at least a little, about what to expect. He wasn’t using his tongue, but he knew her body better than she did. At the end of it, she knew she would have her climax, and it would be one of the best things she had ever experienced.
That’s how things were with Maxwell.
A moan slipped free from her mouth, and he met her gaze as he pressed his palm against her lips. At first, the pressure was light, and she knew he was waiting for her to shake her head and push him away.
But she didn’t.
She craved his command. For it to be a battle hard won, and for him to always respect her submission as much as she respected his domination.
An act of respect; that’s what it was.
There was power in yielding. Power in allowing his hand across her mouth to smother the sounds she made helplessly as she rubbed herself against him.
When she brought her hand to his crotch, he caught her wrist, his hand perfectly gentle and firm. Though she could see his arousal, and though she wanted to provide relief, he refused to let her.
“Maxwell,” she moaned against his hand, hearing the whining tone in her voice. “I want to touch you.”
“Later.” The word was a command and a promise, and more liquid heat erupted in her lower belly. “When I have you in our bed, I will show you how to give me pleasure, Thalia. With your hands and your mouth.”
Her head fell back, and her eyes rolled back in her head as he brought her ever closer to the brink.
“Quiet, sweetheart,” he murmured. “It would be such a shame if everyone were to see you now.”
The way he watched her was with such masculine satisfaction that she spasmed around nothing. Hollow, left wanting. The pressure of his thigh, the friction, made her knees tremble.
“No one else should see you the way I get to see you,” he went on. “You’re mine, Thalia. No one else’s. So, bite back those moans, and prove to me what a good girl you can be.”
For anyone else, she would have laughed. Sneered at the thought of going out of her way to be someone else’s idea of what she ought to be.
But the very prospect of pleasing him made her feel hot and almost dizzy, and the next thing she knew, pleasure burst over her like sparks turning into a roaring fire, overwhelming in its intensity.
Maxwell leaned forward and replaced his hand with his mouth, tasting her with his tongue, drinking in her moans as she shuddered and quivered against him. He held her firmly, gently, so securely that she knew she was safe, even when her knees gave way entirely, and she fell forward on him.
His arms closed around her, holding her against his chest and his pounding heart.
No part of her could believe that had happened. In the other room, she could still hear the tinkle of the pianoforte and the gentle hum of laughter and conversation.
Elliot was in there. Anna. All her friends.
She tipped her head back to look at Maxwell, who was watching her with hawk-like intensity.
How could she ever say she regretted something that felt so good?
She let her lips fall into a slow, contented smile, and some of the concern left his face.
“I doubt we should do that too often,” she said, her voice light and teasing, though still sultry from the aftermath of her climax. “People will start to suspect something.”
He kissed her again, taking his time. From the tension of his body against hers, she could sense his unfulfilled need, though he made sure to keep himself angled away from her now.
“Let them suspect,” he said, drawing back. “So long as they can confirm nothing, what else matters?”
Plenty did, but she laughed, giddily. “I suspect the rather stuffier dowagers would disagree with you.”
“Why?” His lips ghosted across her cheek to her ear. “Do you intend to tell them?”
“No. No one gets to know the things we do together.” She drew back to look him full in the face, and he nodded, smoothing her curls back from her face with a surprisingly tender hand.
“No one. Now get back into the drawing room before I forget all my resolutions and take you against the wall.” His voice lowered to a growl, and she shivered.
“Are you not coming with me?”
“I’ll follow shortly.” He glanced down to where a considerable bulge dented the front of his breeches. “I don’t want to scandalize anyone.”
“Oh.” Despite everything they had just done, she flushed. “In that case… I’ll see you later.”
“Later,” he promised.
Thalia suddenly thought she couldn’t wait for the rest of their lives to begin.