Lynne Connolly: Counterfeit Countess

Where he feasted. He drew it deep as if he would consume it whole, then released the heated, wet tip to the cool air where it crinkled into a hard point. He smiled, lifted his gaze to hers. His eyes held the promise of slow burn, heat that owed nothing to the light glimmering through the slats on the shutters or the glow of the embers in the grate. As he straightened, he took her breasts in his hands, cupped them and held them up for his inspection. “Your body is lovely. Just as I always imagined.”

With a swift movement that took her by surprise, he turned her, unfastened her petticoats, then opened her stays wider so she could step out of them. Everything fell to the floor with a soft thump.

When she stretched out her hand, he took it and helped her to move forward, naked but for her stockings and shift. Fine lawn, hiding little, even in the dim light in this room. She had candleholders set in the bedhead, and they were all she’d lit to help her in her task.

She’d said she wouldn’t think, and she’d keep that promise. No more speculation and worry, not for the next—ten minutes, half an hour, however long it took. At least she’d have a memory to take with her.

He led her to the bed, which Robinson had already turned down, the sheets pristinely gleaming, inviting. She dragged them lower so she could climb in. “Take everything off,” he murmured, watching her.

She’d never done that before, undressed for a man. Come to that, she’d rarely disrobed for the marital act. It was usually too cold or not private enough, or they didn’t have enough room or time.

She took her stockings off first, unfastening the garters and rolling the fabric carefully down her legs. She tried not to snag them, more from habit than anything else, because these thicker, robust ones weren’t so fragile.

Closing her mind to the thought she concentrated on removing her shift, pulling it over her head and tossing it aside as if she were the veriest wanton. After that she dared not look up, afraid of what she might see. She was entering unknown territory, except for once on her wedding night, when her husband had declared her,

“Acceptable,” before falling on her like a rutting bull.

John’s quiet, “Look at me,” heightened her nervousness, and wearing a silly smile she couldn’t suppress she did what he told her.

He smiled back, but warmer, more meaningful. “You’re lovely, Faith. Better without your clothes than in them.” His hands went to his neck. He unfastened his neckcloth, and dragged it from around his throat. Fully dressed still, while she had nothing on. She reached for the sheet to cover herself. “No,” he said quickly. “Let me see. Watch me, if that makes you easier.”

A laugh bubbled from her throat. “It won’t, but I feel—strange.”

She couldn’t describe it, even to herself, but she tried. “Excitement and fear and anticipation. All those.”

He shrugged off his evening coat and it fell with a rasp of silk, the only sound in the room except their harsh breathing. His waistcoat followed in short order. He tossed it to the floor like a rag.

“All those,” he echoed, as he undid his shirt at the neck and cuffs, then dragged it over his head.

Her gasp rang around the room, softened by the upholstery draped around the old-fashioned tester. This bed was in place when she moved in and she guessed it had been set there when the house was built. She had bought a new mattress, though. She’d never been an advocate of horsehair and rope. Her goose feathers gave her adequate support, but she didn’t know if the creaking frame would survive the next few minutes.

Or her, for that matter. He had a broad, almost hairless chest, gleaming and bronzed. She wet her lips. “You spent a lot of time in the open air.”

He raised a brow. “I did. The ladies of fashion would condemn me for being too brown.”

“I want to lick it.” Where did that come from? But she did. She wouldn’t take it back.

“You shall. Anything you wish to do. Tonight.” He meant it.

They could give in to the desire that, it appeared, they had both felt in the army, but this was in the nature of a truce. Not a peace.

Happy endings weren’t her forte, but she could have a temporary one tonight. She refused to let her doubts show on her face, but watched him, and then she forgot her fear of inadequacy as he exposed more of his masculine beauty.

Associating the word with a man seemed strange, but not when she gazed at him. Broad shoulders, easy, powerful muscles, evidence of his outdoor life. Her mouth went dry when he kicked off his shoes and pushed his breeches and underwear down and off, staying bent until he’d shed his hosiery.

When he stood, he took her breath away. It wasn’t as if she’d never seen a man’s erection before. She just hadn’t seen this one.

Large, yes, thick, too, but dark in colour and leaking clear liquid.

She wanted to taste it, actually wanted it. “That too,” he said, his voice deeper, harsher as if as seized by the moment as she. He’d done this before, doubtless more than she had, so why would he feel that way? Glad she roused him, unsure what would happen, she watched him approach.

He kept her gaze, leaning over her so she lay back against the covers. “That’s it.” His voice purred across her, making the small hairs on her body come to attention. She couldn’t look away from his eyes, so hot, watching her as voraciously as she watched him.

“Now, my lady, let’s to it, shall we?”

Something inside her sank, like a bladder deflating. His smile stoked the still glowing fire inside her. However, she knew this part.

She opened her legs, still looking forward to feeling his body in hers.

He leaned forward, his chest touching her nipples. Delicious, awakening every sense she owned.

He let his shaft press against her stomach, branding the soft skin with wet fire when he claimed another kiss. He tangled his fingers in her curls, held her head steady while he kissed her and kissed her, as if he couldn’t get enough.

The ten minutes she’d allotted to this act had probably passed by now. He lifted his head, his mouth full and damp. “I could do that all night, were it not for the other treats in store. Tell me you want me.”

She nodded and he smiled, a slow, hot smile that heated her blood. Moaning his name, she raised her arms and curled them around his neck, drawing him back with an unspoken request.

“Next time, we’ll take much, much longer.” The smile remained as he reached down and adjusted himself, introducing his cock to the place where it belonged. Next time ? Not likely.

But oh, she wanted this. Wanted the intimacy, a closeness she’d missed so badly. He watched her as he guided his shaft into position. His knuckles nudged her—she didn’t know the name of it, or even if it had a name, that tight knot of sensitivity at the top of her slit. She cried out, and jerked. He gave a tight smile. “I won’t ignore your clitoris, I promise.”

Clitoris. He knew she had one, and how it felt to her. She’d learned on her own, tickling it until warmth swept over her in a great wave. Desperate to reconnect with the part of her life that had died in Waterloo, she’d learned her own body better in the two years since. Maybe that might have made a difference to her marriage, but her husband had never encouraged her to explore.

His eyes widened, lost a touch of the sultry expression. “You didn’t know about it?”

“I didn’t know what it was called.”

He snatched a kiss. “It has. I know what it’s called and what to do with it. Open for me.” She obeyed, widening her thighs and bending her knees to place her feet flat on the bed. “Wrap your legs around me. Pull me in.”