Authors: Cecily French
You can always tell Anthony you’ve changed your mind. He’d
understand.
On the other side of the screen, the soft thud of shoes
being tossed aside and the rustle of clothing suggested Anthony was preparing
for bed. Would he leave his clothing on the floor for Davis to collect or fold
it neatly and place it on the bureau? A giggle hovered behind her lips and she
slapped a hand over her mouth.
“Emily? Is something amiss?”
“Nothing,” she assured. “Just coming.”
“I took the liberty of doing a little shopping for you this
afternoon after I dropped you off at Jocelyn’s,” he called. “There’s a
hairbrush and some combs on that table. I hope you don’t mind.”
“Not at all,” she said. “Thank you.”
Toeing off her shoes, she slid the dress from her body.
Stepping out of it, she removed her shift then her stockings. Without the
shift’s protective cover, her nipples hardened in the cool air. She reached for
the nightgown. The silken fabric spread over her hands, its weave as
translucent as starlight. She pulled it over her head, enjoying the softness
sliding down her naked body. All her other nightgowns were practical cotton.
Her trembling fingers made quick work of the pins holding her hair in place and
she dropped them on the table as her hair tumbled past her shoulders. Ignoring
the brush, she combed her curls with her fingers and stepped back into the room
where Anthony waited by the fireplace.
He wore a dark-blue dressing gown belted at the waist. It
stretched across his chest, outlining the strong slope of shoulders, the hem
stopping just below his knees. A lock of hair fell carelessly over his
forehead, giving him a boyish appearance.
But his glittering eyes—ones that roamed over her
body—showed him to be a man of much experience in the art of love. She shivered
again, wondering just what she would learn under his teaching.
He held out his hand and she joined him, offering hers. He
raised it to his lips and feathered a kiss across her knuckles before lowering
his head to kiss her. His mouth was warm against hers, moving in a slow, lazy
exploration. His tongue traced the edge of her lips and she sighed in
contentment. She wrapped her arms around his waist, drawing him to her. He did
the same, holding her so close his organ pressed against her from inside his
robe.
Anthony lifted his head and stared down at her, his eyes
brightened by…what? Passion? Need? Desire?
“You’re a beautiful woman, Emily,” he said. “Much more so
than when you were a girl.”
“Maturity becomes me?” she teased.
“Heavens, yes.” He kissed the tip of her nose. “Very much,
indeed. Come.”
With his arm still around her, he led her to the bed.
Putting a knee on the mattress, he pulled her closer and lowered his mouth to
hers, but she put a halting hand on his chest. “Wait. Shouldn’t we put out the
candles first?”
His eyebrows rose. “Why?”
The scalding heat returned to Emily’s cheeks. “Well…I mean…”
Anthony lifted her chin with his fingers. “You’ve only made
love in the dark, haven’t you?”
“Yes,” Emily admitted. “Isaiah thought it indecent
otherwise. And always with our clothing on.”
“Oh my God,” Anthony groaned. “What a fool he was.” His
eyebrows pulled together in concern. “You
have
seen a naked man before,
haven’t you?”
“Yes,” Emily said again. “I managed to coax Isaiah into
removing his clothing once or twice, but—”
“Not another word about Isaiah.” A scowling Anthony
interrupted. “Not one more word.”
They sat on the bed, and then shifted to lie against the
pillows, nestling in one another’s arms, face to face.
“I’m going to kiss you now,” Anthony whispered, running a
hand over her hair. “And then I want you to tell me what you want me to do.”
Emily forced herself to keep her gaze on his incredible
face. “Would you undress me?”
“Before or after I kiss you?”
“Before.”
He sat up and pulled her along with him. “Whatever my lady
wants.”
Reaching for the hem of her gown, he tugged it up her body.
It rippled like a wave past her mound, belly and breasts, until it passed her
head and he cast it aside. His breath caught as she was revealed to him.
“Sweet heaven,” he murmured, running his hands over her
shoulders. “A man would have to be an idiot to not want to see this by
candlelight.”
He slid his hands down to cup her breasts as if testing them
for weight. “Beautiful,” he said, tracing the areolas before gently rolling her
aching nipples between his fingers. “Just beautiful.”
A sigh issued from Emily’s throat and she leaned in to
smooth her lips across his chin. “That feels good, Anthony.”
“Lie back on the pillows. Put your arms over your head.”
She stretched out as he requested and waited. He studied her
body as if trying to decide which part to touch first. Then slowly his palms
began their descent, from her shoulders, to her breasts—where they lingered to
stroke her nipples once more—before continuing down to the plane of her belly
and stopping at the curly thatch of hair at the juncture of her thighs. Leaning
forward, he gently blew across the curls, planting a kiss in the middle of her
mound before dragging his tongue across to find the tight, hard bud under the
soft nest of hair. “Have you ever been kissed here?”
A shudder of delight raced over Emily’s skin and she peered
at him. “No. Do men like to kiss that part of a woman?”
“The smart ones do. Have you ever been touched there? I
mean, other than with your husband’s cock?”
“No.” Heat scorched Emily’s skin again. “Is that what you
call your organ? A cock?”
“Cock, shaft, penis, rod. But enough about vocabulary. Let
me begin your lessons in pleasure, my dearest Emily.”
“When do I get to see you?”
He wiggled his eyebrows. “Would you like to undress me?”
In spite of the wild thundering of her heart, Emily allowed
herself a moment to study his robe-clad body, trying to imagine what lay
beneath. “Stand up,” she said at last.
He moved off the bed and stood, waiting. Crawling to the
edge, Emily reached for the loosely tied sash and tugged. It fell open and he
slipped out of the robe, tossing it aside. The shimmering light gleamed across
his shoulders while under the dark hair covering his chest, sculpted planes
awaited the appreciation of her hands.
But what held her attention was his shaft. Freed from the
confines of the robe, it sprang up, quivering, as if announcing its need.
“Oh my,” Emily whispered. The aching in her breasts spread
to her loins, starting a desire as old as time to be touched and filled by this
man.
She returned to lie against the pillows and he joined her,
stretching out to his full length. “Put your leg over my hip,” he whispered.
“Why?”
His smile was one degree short of wicked. “You’ll see.”
Wrapping his hands around her head, Anthony leaned in to
kiss her. Gently at first, then slipping his tongue inside her mouth to probe
hers, twining it around, patiently waiting for her to respond. She whimpered
and her mouth became more demanding of his, feasting, sucking and savoring as
if tasting something delicious long withheld. She danced her fingers down his
back until they came to rest on his bottom. Splaying her hands across it, she
sighed in appreciation.
“You’re so tight,” she murmured. “So tight and hard.”
“Years of horseback riding,” he said slyly. “Pounding your
ass against a saddle for hours at a time will make it hard.”
A shy light entered her eyes and her mouth trembled with
approaching laughter. “It’s a very nice ass,” she said. “Nice and smooth.”
“Thank you, madam.” Anthony slipped his hand between her
legs and drew a finger from the bottom of her opening to the top, stopping at
the knot of flesh to circle it with the tip of his finger.
She arched her back. “Oh! Ohhh…Anthony.”
“My lady is pleased?” He slid his finger down her crevice
again and slipped inside, then withdrew to make his way back to the knot. She
squirmed but he held her in place while his finger continued its ministrations.
“I…I…yes,” she panted. Her mouth claimed his again, as
demanding as a starving woman at a feast.
Sweet heaven, he had to taste her. All of her. He flipped
her onto her back and moved down to cup first one breast then the other while
he nibbled and suckled her nipples.
She stretched beneath him and her fingers threaded their way
through his hair. “Mmm…” she sighed. “I like that too.”
He looked up and met her heavy-lidded gaze, as content as a
cat in the sun. The thought of making love to her outside on a summer day sent
a rush of excitement to his throbbing cock and it took all his mastery not to
bury himself to the hilt in her waiting warmth, letting his seed explode inside
her.
But he wanted to be sure their first time together would be
something wonderful, something she would always remember. If she wanted
pleasure then, by heaven, he would gladly give it to her.
And teach her how to pleasure him.
He inched his way down the mattress, lowered his mouth to
her vulva and dragged his tongue from the bottom of her opening to the top,
drinking in the flowing liquid. Her dusky taste filled his mouth, more
satisfying than any wine and twice as heady. She twisted but he draped an arm
across her, holding her in place while his mouth continued its work.
Her whimpers became moans, signaling her approaching
release, but he couldn’t get enough of her essence filling his mouth. He
nibbled her clitoris and was rewarded by her bottom jerking off the bed. He
smiled against the curls and kept at it.
“Oh, Anthony!” She clutched the sheet with one hand while
her other sought and grabbed the pillow above her head as if seeking an anchor.
“Hmmm?”
“I need…I need…”
“Perhaps this?”
He parted her legs with his own and eased himself inside.
Heat slid along his prick as his length made its way up inside her. He moved
back and pushed forward again. Her hands cupped his bottom, smoothing the skin
while her legs gripped his hips.
“Not so tightly,” he chided, kissing the tip of her nose. “I
want to be able to move in and out of you.”
The shyness returned to her eyes. “Do I feel good to you?”
“Oh my Lord, Emily,” he groaned, forcing himself not to
speed up his steady movements. “You feel like you were built for me.”
“For your cock?” Merriment replaced the shyness.
“Especially for my cock. You’re so warm and wet and sweet.”
“Sweet?”
He kissed her again, rolling his tongue around hers in a
furious tangle. “Can you taste that?” he gasped. “That dark, sweet taste?
That’s you, Emily. That’s you. I could spend hours tasting you.”
Her hips shifted beneath him and she drew him in even
deeper. “But I like this too,” she whispered, stroking the sides of his face.
“You feel so good inside me, Anthony. So very, very good.”
Her words might have been an incantation because a wave of
desire spiraled over him and Anthony’s hips picked up speed, giving him just
enough time to ease out before thrusting back inside her. She caught his rhythm
and this time he did not scold when her legs gripped around him. Her moans were
like a song, urging him on until a shuddering wave hit and he roared out his
satisfaction. Her answering cry of his name finished him and he gave up his
seed to fall spent and complete against her.
Now give Hercules a gentle kick with both your feet. That
tells him you want him to move. But not so hard you hurt him. Horses are our
friends as well as our servants and we must be kind to them. They depend on us
to take good care of them.
Like this, Papa?
That’s my boy! You’re going to make a splendid rider,
son. Simply splendid. Now let’s take Hercules around the ring, shall we?
Tears prompted by memory pricked Anthony’s eyes as he
stepped into the yard at Tattersall’s. By damn, his father did not take his own
life. He did
not.
He inhaled through his nose, savoring the aroma of leather,
hay and horses. Men strolled about clutching lists of what was available for
purchase. Perhaps there would be a nice, gentle mare for Emily. Then they could
go riding in Hyde Park.
Or perhaps they could just “go riding” in his bed. The
thought of her lying among sheets warmed by sunlight started an ache in his
cock and the sudden desire to go back to the hotel and bed her right now
overcame him.
“’Lo, Anthony! Here to see a man about a horse?”
Turning, Anthony accepted the outstretched hand of his
friend Gregory Keller. “What other possible reason could I have for coming to
Tattersall’s on a Thursday morning?”
“And what better place for a man to hear the latest gossip,”
Greg quipped. “One never knows what one will hear from one’s fellows at
Tattersall’s. You’re looking remarkably well this morning. New tailor,
perhaps?”
“Something like that,” Anthony admitted. “Anything worth
seeing today?”
Greg nodded. “There’s a great black beast available. A
hunter, eighteen hands and at a very reasonable price. At least reasonable for
someone with your income.”
“You’re not hurting for money, Greg,” Anthony reminded him.
“What’s this I hear about you being made a baronet with a nice tidy income for
services rendered to the Crown during the war? Am I to address you as Sir
Gregory now?”
Greg laughed. “Only if you must. I thought I’d celebrate the
occasion by buying myself a new horse or two.”
“Have you seen anything suitable for a lady?”
“A lady?” Greg repeated. A merry glint started in his eyes.
“For one of your sisters, perhaps? But no, then you would need two, wouldn’t
you?”
“For a lady and let’s leave it at that, Greg,” Anthony said.
“Lead me to the ‘great black beast’.”
He followed his friend to a paddock. Inside, a coal-shaded
stallion frisked and stamped about. Greg had not exaggerated the animal’s size.
He was huge and his flaring nostrils suggested only the strongest hands could
control him. From the whistles and exchanged glances of those crowding around
the paddock, they agreed. A little man in a bowler hat and checkered waistcoat
scrambled up on a mounting post and waved his arms.
“Awright, gents, this here,” he gestured at the horse, “is
Go-liath, named such for obvious reasons.” He winked. “Other parts of ’im are
big as well, but we’ll leave that for the mares, won’t we?”
Chortling, he slapped his thighs and the men joined in his
laughter. Anthony waited until the guffaws died away before raising his walking
stick. “How much?”
“One hundred pounds, my good sir,” the man called. “You look
like you have deep pockets, my man. Go-liath would be a ’andsome addition to
your stable.”
“Deep pockets, indeed.” Greg laughed. “He’s the Duke of
Bradford.”
The others laughed again, but the man snatched off his hat,
pressed it to his chest and bowed. “I’m sorry, Your Grace. I didn’t know who
you was!”
“It’s quite all right. “Anthony shot a baleful glare at
Greg, prompting a shrug and a grin. “It’s not like I have a calling card pinned
to my back.”
“Dyson? By God, I don’t believe it.”
The laughter stopped as a heavy-set man pushed and elbowed
his way through the crowd to stop before Anthony and Greg. Rage colored his
complexion a dull red and he shook his fist at Anthony.
“I’d heard you’d come back to London,” he said, spitting his
words. “Finally had the ballocks to show your face again after what your father
did?”
“Hullo, Abernathy.” Anthony brushed a nonexistent piece of
lint from his jacket. “What were you saying?”
“That your father was a cheat and a thief and a coward! I
lost five hundred pounds in that phony investment scheme of his!” Sir Charles
Abernathy snarled. “And coward that he was, he shot himself before he was
exposed. If you had any sense of honor or balls at all, you would have
compensated me for my losses! “
An angry murmur started around them and a mounting rage
burned behind Anthony’s eyes. “Abernathy,” he said evenly, considering if he
should withdraw the sword hidden inside his cane and skewer the man on the spot.
“Did you call my late father a coward?”
“Of course he didn’t! Because that would mean he was
suicidal, and if he were to die, I’d never collect the money he owes my club.”
A cheerful voice rang out and the crowd parted to allow its owner to join them.
At six-foot-five, Brandon Hightower, Viscount Pemberton, was possibly the
tallest man in London. He was also co-owner of Victoria’s, one of London’s most
elegant clubs. There was a year-long waiting list to join and then candidates
were only admitted if they met the incredibly high standards Brandon set.
That Abernathy was a member surprised Anthony, taking the
edge off his rage for a moment. “You let Abernathy join Victoria’s?” he asked,
being sure disdain colored his words. “What happened? Did Brummell quit?”
“A singular moment of weakness, I assure you.” Dressed
almost to the height of fashion—any closer and one would call him a fop—Brandon
glared down at Sir Charles Abernathy. “I’ve a good mind to expel you right now
for your bad manners here today, but you do owe me money.”
The red mottling Abernathy’s face turned purple. “Dyson’s
father cheated me—”
“As I recall, Anthony’s father—who certainly knew something
about investing—only mentioned he was planning to invest, which is not the same
thing as a suggestion,” Brandon said airily. “You didn’t have to follow his
lead. And it’s not the first time you’ve made bad investments, Abernathy. Half
of banking London knows you’re a dreadful risk. You’d probably advise a dog to
invest in a flea farm. And you are addressing the
Duke
of Bradford, sir.
Show a little respect, if you please.”
He prodded Abernathy’s chest with a gloved finger and sent
the man stumbling backward. “I think you should leave,” Brandon advised. His
tone suggested he would brook no argument. So did his scowl. “I’ll send a man
around later today with a note of what you owe Victoria’s. Best to settle up
your own debts before you start publicly casting stones. You may go.”
Abernathy seemed to shrink under Brandon’s threat.
Muttering, he scuttled away, but at the edge of the crowd he turned and
shouted, “You haven’t heard the last of this,
Your Grace
!
”
He left the yard, still muttering. Slowly conversations
began again, the men’s voices rising and falling as they looked at the sheets
in their hands.
Anthony cocked his head at his friend. “Did you think I
couldn’t take care of this myself, Brandon?”
Brandon winked. “I was afraid you might call the bugger out,
and then I couldn’t be sure if I’d get the money he owes me. You are, after
all, one of the best shots in London. Abernathy would be dead before he hit the
ground. But why are we wasting time talking about people not worth talking
about? You fellows wouldn’t know of anyone needing to rent a partially
furnished house, would you?”
I’ll need to find a house of my own.
Emily’s words
echoed in Anthony’s head. “Partially furnished?” he asked. “Where?”
“Bloomsbury,” Brandon said. “On Pedigo Road just off Great
Russell Street. Not the most fashionable of neighborhoods, but the house is
quite lovely and Amos Quigley lives next door. It’s certainly big enough for
one or two people. At least it would have been if Cupid had not crashed and
fallen.”
Greg winked at Anthony. Brandon had a habit of speaking in
riddles. “And what is that supposed to mean?” he asked.
Brandon peered at them in disbelief. “Didn’t you hear about
the debacle at Saint Bride’s last week? You fellows should really pay more
attention to the latest gossip.”
“I’ve only just returned from Florence,” Anthony reminded
him. “But do tell.”
“We’ll always have you for keeping us up to date,” Greg
added.
“As long as my mother is one of London’s leading hostesses,
you will indeed,” Brandon agreed. “It seems that one Edmund Hunt was all set to
marry the youngest daughter of Sir James Fortescue, but she left him waiting at
the altar! Poor chap was so brokenhearted he’s run off to Greece, vowing he’s
going to enter a monastery and swear off women for the rest of this life. He
left the house in the hands of a lending agent with orders to rent it out to
someone of good quality. Fortescue offered it to me before he left, but I’ve a
house already beside the suite at the hotel. Know of anyone?”
“Bloomsbury, you say?” Anthony repeated, considering. “How
large?”
“Well, the standard receiving rooms, a decent-sized library,
modest dining room and four bedrooms upstairs. Nice yard with a back garden.”
“Have you the name of the lending agent?”
“Certainly.” Brandon produced a card from inside his jacket
and gave it to Anthony.
“Thank you.” Anthony tucked it into a pocket and turned to
the little man who remained on the mounting stump. “I’ll take Goliath. Do have
anything suitable for a lady?”
The man jumped down. “Yes, Your Grace. I’ve a lovely
chestnut mare, six years old. Lots of spirit, but not wild-like if you know
what I mean. Let me show you.”
A quick inspection of the mare in a nearby paddock and
Anthony was the owner of two horses. After arranging for their housing, he
turned to his friends. “Will I see you tonight at Lady Featherstock’s?”
“Oh Lord, are you going to that?” Greg groaned. “Half the
mamas in the
ton
with available daughters will be in attendance. And if
they hear
you’re
going to be there, they’ll
all
turn up. I think
I shall play cards tonight at Victoria’s.”
“Can’t let you do that, Keller, because I’m counting on you
going with me to Featherstocks’,” Brandon said grimly.” I promised my parents
I’d at least try to find a bride this Season, and I have to go through the
motions so they can’t accuse me of lying to them. You’d think with all my
brothers being married and providing half a dozen grandsons, my parents would
be satisfied. And you’re a baronet now, so if I’m being made to search for a
wife I insist you suffer the same fate. Anthony, shall I send my carriage so
you may go with us?”
Sympathy tugged at Anthony as he recalled Brandon’s own
failed engagement to the love of his youth. After her leaving him at the altar
ten years ago, Brandon remained a bachelor, vowing to never marry. And while
Brandon would probably face the rack rather than admit it, Anthony had no doubt
as to his friend’s still-wounded heart.
“I’ll be arriving on my own, Brandon,” Anthony told them,
raising his hat. “With the new owner of the chestnut mare. Until later,
gentlemen.”
And before they could start their forthcoming questions,
Anthony bowed and exited the yard.
* * * * *
“You have a certain glow about you this morning, Emily,”
Jocelyn handed her a coffee cup. “Although paying a call at so early in the
morning to most people is hardly the proper thing.” Sun poured into Jocelyn’s
sitting room, scattering prisms of color and light over the carpet. Hugh Rolfe
had already departed for his offices in the city.
Emily pointed at the wall clock. “It’s ten o’clock. In
Downby, I’d have been up for hours.”
“But this is London,” Jocelyn yawned, settling into her
chair. “Most of the
ton
is just now crawling out of bed.” She sat up and
a conspiratorial grin chased any lingering fatigue from her features. “Did you
sleep well last night?”
“Yes and this morning as well.” Emily hoped her matter-of-fact
tone would redirect her friend’s questions. Looking down at her dark-green
dress, she said, “Thank you for giving me this.”
“Ha!” Jocelyn leaned forward and pointed at Emily. “You
can’t fool me. You and Anthony are lovers, aren’t you?”
“Yes.” Emily stared into her coffee cup. “How did you
guess?”
Still grinning, Jocelyn sat back and stretched out her legs,
her bare toes wiggling past the edge of her dressing gown. “Number one, because
you didn’t come back to the house last night and, number two, as I said, you’re
glowing. So, how was it?”
“How was what?”
“Oh, don’t be perverse!” Jocelyn scolded. “What was it like
being in bed with Anthony?”
The heat that had become a regular presence since her
arrival in London returned to Emily’s face. “I had no idea that such pleasure
could be so…so…intense.”
“Well Anthony didn’t waste any time, I’ll give him that,”
Jocelyn said. “You’ve been in London twenty-four hours and he’s already got you
in his bed.”
“I won’t have you thinking Anthony is taking advantage of
me,” Emily scolded. “
I
asked
him
to be my lover. And can you
think of a better way to keep the fortune hunters at bay then by establishing
myself as under a duke’s protection?”
“Short of marrying him, no,” Jocelyn agreed. “Why don’t you
marry him, Em? You’d make a splendid couple.”
“Because I never want to be under a man’s control again,
Jocelyn,” Emily said. “Having to ask permission for every little thing, having
to pretend I agree with his opinions even if I think they’re stupid. Why should
I have to lie to get what I want?”
“But Anthony isn’t like that,” Jocelyn argued, reaching for
the newssheet on the table between them. “He’s one of the most decent and
considerate men I know. He would never belittle a woman. Why not marry him?”