Chastity hesitated. She guessed that if she said yes this would all
end here and her ferocious hunger would be unassuaged. On the other
hand, she wasn’t physically a virgin, so he’d never know.
After the fiasco with Vernham, Chastity had summoned her doctor to
examine her and certify her purity. Her father had found out and
brought in some woman— she claimed to be a midwife, but Chastity
suspected she was keeper of a brothel. Her father’s loathsome henchman,
Lindle, had held her down while the woman broke her hymen and took away
her feeble proof of virtue.
When Dr. Marsden had called, she’d tried to send him away, but her
father had forced her to accept the examination by the saddened
physician. Chastity had been warned that if she ever tried to tell her
story, Dr. Marsden would give evidence of her wickedness.
“Well?” Cyn asked sharply. “It’s not so hard a question.”
“No,” said Chastity. “Of course I’m not a virgin.”
He searched her eyes. “Is that the truth? I meant what I said. I’ll beat you if you’ve lied about this, and I’ll know.”
Chastity swallowed, but met his eyes. “You won’t make me bleed, I
assure you, milord. I’ve had a man in my bed before.” Both statements
were completely true.
He released her chin. “So be it.” He pushed her open gown off her
shoulders and it fell to the floor, then turned her to undo her
petticoat laces.
His fingers against her spine sent little shivers through her, and
when the petticoat fell he ran his knuckles up and down the cleft of
her spine; bone, silk, and flesh. She swayed back against him, and he
nibbled gently at her nape.
Then sneezed.
“Damn. Why the hell did you have to wear powder?” But his tone was amused as he turned her.
“I’m sorry. As you have guessed, I am not very experienced at these matters.”
His hands cradled her breasts. “I don’t think experience affects
that. I’ve known some women wise in wickedness who don’t seem to
realize how creams and hair-dressings can interfere with delight.”
His thumbs lightly brushed her nipples through the silk. The
feverish longing built in Chastity again, more strongly for having been
denied before. She moved to pull off the chemise. He stopped her.
“No, sweeting, leave it. I’m not sure I’m ready for the full glory of you yet.”
He picked her up and laid her again on the mattress.
“I’m ready for you,” said Chastity.
“Are you? Let’s see.”
He knelt between her legs. He put his hands on her ankles and slid
them slowly up her legs, his calloused fingers rubbing deliciously
against her smooth skin. Chastity twisted restlessly, opening her legs
willingly to his invasion, but his hands stopped at her thighs. He
flexed his thumbs there against the satiny inner skin.
Chastity pressed her head back. “Oh, sweet heaven, what are you doing to me?”
She felt his head there, between her legs, his lips where his thumbs had been. She jerked up onto her elbows. “What… ?”
He nipped her. “Don’t ask so many questions. Does it feel good?”
She felt fingers in the hair between her thighs, sliding in the
fluid there. “You are, aren’t you? It’s as if I rubbed more of that
cream here.”
His fingers slid into her. Chastity collapsed back with a guttural
moan that shocked her with its primitive sound. She pushed against his
hand and he met her hard, rubbing against her. He slid up to take her
nipple in his mouth and sucked in rhythm with his hand.
Chastity was lost. A part of her brain was still sane, and knew she
was probably shouting her desperate need of release. She would rather
be quiet and ladylike but found it impossible. She tried to apologize,
but instead she stretched herself wide and thrust up at him.
Then he moved. His mouth and hand left her and she felt him hard against her.
“Yes,” she breathed.
He slid into her slowly, almost tentatively. Chastity whimpered and
thrust up to engulf him. He was big, she was tight, but the stretching
fullness was delicious.
She thought she heard a strange sigh as he settled in her. Then he eased out.
She wriggled after him, terrified he would leave her. He slid in again and she shuddered with relief.
“Never fear, Chloe,” he said gently, running a tender hand across
her cheek, “I won’t leave you aching. Come, let us find our end.”
Thrust met thrust, slowly at first as they learned each other,
gentle and caring. But then need took over and they raced to an
explosion that tore Chastity’s mind asunder.
She floated up from that darkness and sucked air into her empty
lungs, knowing she would never be the same again. She was scoured
clean, both full and empty, dazed and yet alive as never before.
He sprawled on top of her, breathing deeply, hot and sweaty. When he
stirred, they were stuck together by sweat, juice, and cream, and had
to peel themselves apart. Cooler air brushed over her damp skin and she
laughed with delight.
He leaned over her, eyes dark and mysterious, but smiling at her
pleasure. “One thing’s for sure, my Chloe, you’ve had oafs in your bed
before. Why waste all this glory on them?”
She wanted to tell him the truth, but it would shatter a golden
moment. And she wasn’t at all sure he wouldn’t beat her for the lie
she’d told, even though it had been the truth. “I was an ignorant
fool,” she said.
He shielded his eyes and ran a hand down her arm. “And now?”
“And now I know better.”
“And what will you do with that knowledge?”
She knew then what she must do. He didn’t think he was the first,
but he knew—heaven knew how—that he’d been the first to show her that
ecstasy. Now he felt responsible, as if he had taken her maidenhead.
Knight errantry again. Did he try to help every wounded stray in his
path? He already had Verity, William, and Charles on his hands; he
didn’t need a lascivious Chloe to fret over.
She must cut him free.
She eased to a sitting position. “I’ll know my worth from now on,”
she said frankly. “I’ll not give my favors lightly in the future.”
His hand rested on her thigh. “Is that a promise?”
She nodded. She wished, quite desperately, that she could speak the
thoughts of her heart—that she loved him and could never imagine these
intimacies with any other man, no matter how skillful. She longed for a
moment of honesty between them, just once.
But this night was all they would ever have and honesty would ruin it.
And this night wasn’t over yet.
She looked thoughtfully at his penis, limp against his thigh. He chuckled and said, “Soon, I have no doubt.”
He sat up and pulled off her soiled and creased chemise, wrapping
them both in the quilt. To snuggle with him like this was an unexpected
bliss, perhaps more than she could handle. Certainly more than she
could willingly forgo…
He poured them more wine. “Tell me about yourself.”
Chastity hadn’t bargained on conversation. “Would you pluck out the heart of my mysteries, then?”
“Yes, indeed. I’d strip you to your very soul.”
She shivered. “Why don’t you tell me your secrets first, milord.”
“My secrets…” He stared into the glowing fire. “Is it a secret that
I’m often afraid before battle? It’s not one to my fellow soldiers
because we all share the weakness. Only a fool lacks fear. I don’t fear
death. I fear maiming.”
Chastity clenched her hands on her glass. Death was the last thing she wanted to talk of. “Do you not have any less
military
secrets?”
He slid her a glance. “Do you want a list of my lovers?”
She certainly did not. “Is that the total of your interests? Love and war?”
“Perhaps. How long does it take, I wonder, to know someone? To fall in love.”
Chastity gazed into the secret world of the fire. “A moment, or forever.”
“True enough. Now, you owe me a secret.”
She shook her head. “I am made entirely of secrets and mysteries, and if I give away one, I will fall apart.”
Like an explosion, he pulled her to her feet, dragged her over to a
small speckled mirror on the wall, and held her there. She saw them
both, naked, made strange by rippled glass and flickering light. He was
Cyn, his hair rippling to his naked shoulders; she was a mystery, even
to herself. This woman with her dusty dark hair, mask, and swollen lips
was no one she knew.
“Watch,” he said, “and I will show you mysteries.”
He began to touch her with skillful thoroughness, all the time
watching her watch this strange wanton woman in the mirror melt into
desire. Her head fell back against his shoulder. Her lips parted. Her
bosom rose and fell with deep, hungry breaths. She looked at him in the
glass. He was not swamped by desire, but watchful.
“I don’t like this,” she said.
“Liar.”
“I don’t like leaving you behind. Come with me.”
He nipped her shoulder. “I can discover all the secrets of your body
and use them to shatter you into pieces, but you will not fall apart.
You will be stronger for it.”
She tried to resist his skillful touch. “That’s not the same.”
He increased the pressure of his hand between her thighs, and a
shudder overwhelmed her will. “It’s the same,” he said. “Tell me your
secrets.”
Another wave of aching desire rippled through her. She closed her eyes. “What do you
want
?”
“All of you.
Trust me
.”
She spread her legs. “I trust you.”
His hand stopped. “Not for that. Trust me with yourself.”
She shook her head. “I have nothing for you, Cyn Malloren.” She
broke free and ran, swooping down to catch up her clothing. He brought
her down on the mattress, weighing down her body with his own, her
wrists in his grasp.
His eyes were dark. “This is not the end.”
“I told you, I have nothing more.”
“Yes, you have. I want all of you. I want your secrets.”
Chastity straggled. “You’re mad!”
“Indeed I am. Can’t you feel it, what’s in this room, damn you? After this, can you go to another man?”
“I won’t go to another man!”
“Trust me!” He kissed her with passion. Chastity kissed him back as
she wept. This time the tears leaked out of the mask and he drank them
from her cheeks. “Cry, cry for us, Chloe. Whatever else, you’ll never
forget this.”
He made love to her again, with mouth and hands, and every nerve in
his body. At first she struggled against the passion, fearing the
wildness of it, the violence of his intent, but then she surrendered.
He would not let it be easy. Twice he brought her high, then stopped
despite her pleas, cooling her with wine and cream until reality
returned, a reality full of longing.
She swore at him, hit out at him.
He turned her gently and massaged her back, using the cream for
lubrication, until she turned languid and floating, and found a kind of
peace. Then he pushed her up on her knees and touched her from behind
until she gasped with need once more.
“Devil take you, Cyn Malloren,” she whispered, “if you let me down again.”
He laughed and slid to lie under her, looking up at her. “Fly for yourself then, Chloe. Ride me.”
She straddled him and engulfed him with hungry urgency, sliding up
and down him with the sweetest friction in the world. She watched him
dissolve, but she’d learned her lessons well. With supreme willpower,
she stopped, hovering over him.
His eyes flew open. His fists clenched. “Oh, sweet wanton harpy from hell… Do I have to beg?”
“Yes,” she said.
His eyes were nothing but darkness. “Please,” he whispered.
Chastity settled again and sent them soaring.
They slept. Chastity woke half over Cyn with the quilt dragged
roughly on top of them. The fire was dead, and the light through the
dusty window suggested the first touches of dawn. She eased up
cautiously, shivering in the chill air, but he didn’t stir.
She could hardly see him in the gray light and wanted to
desperately. She reached to touch him but pulled her hand back. Tears
choked her at the knowledge that this was the end. After this night,
she’d have to flee.
Hardly breathing, she slipped into the chemise, petticoat, and gown.
She carried the stomacher for it would be too difficult to struggle
into here. She doubted she would meet anyone at this dead hour of the
night, but if so, in the gloom, the clothes she had on should do.
She retrieved her key from under the mattress and eased open the
door, wincing as it creaked. He still didn’t stir. She slipped out,
down the narrow stairs, and fled back to Lord Heatherington’s room.
Cyn opened his eyes as soon as she left. This was certainly a cold,
bleak aftermath to the most heated night of his life. He closed his
eyes and relived it, not proud of all of it, but aware that in the end
it had been good.
One thing was certain—he could not now live without her; he could not let her live without him.
The pain had been physical when he’d recognized the perfume worn by
Gresham’s whore. He’d felt as if all the pleasures of life had turned
to dross because his damsel was a wanton, not a misjudged angel. He’d
stolen her from his friend more with a mind to vengeance than pleasure.
He’d been prepared to be disgusted by a whore’s tricks, and had been
seduced by gallant ignorance. He’d truly expected to have her confess
to being a virgin, and been prepared, at great cost to his sanity, to
leave her one. Even as he’d entered her he’d expected to find that
she’d lied.
And been disappointed to find her truthful.
But it didn’t take much to steal virginity, after all, and it was
clear as day she was no practiced trollop. Perhaps there’d just been
Vernham…
He shook his head and smiled. She was doubtless sneaking back to her
identity as Charles. It would be hard, but he’d leave her in it until
he’d worked out what best to do. The future would not be easy. The
world would stare at a Malloren marrying a ruined woman, and Rothgar
would do his damnedest to stop him.