Ann Lethbridge - A Sinful Regency Christmas

“What are you doing?”

He lifted her hem. “You shall know in a moment,” he assured her. Her skirt and petticoats were up around her knees revealing dainty ankles and shapely, silk-clad calves. “It is just another kind of kiss. I promise you shall like it.” He pressed his lips to her kneecap. And her legs, which she’d held tightly together, parted so that he could slide a hand up the inside of her thigh.

She pushed back, trying to close them again, pressing a hand down to hold her skirt in place. “Robert, you cannot. We are not married.”

Yet , he thought to himself with a smile.

“And if someone should discover us …”

“No one ever shall,” he assured her. “You shall be unchanged, I promise.” In body perhaps. But her spirit would be his forever. He withdrew his hand and kissed his own fingertips, and then dipped them below her hem and trailed them up her thighs. “This is not so very bad, is it?” he suggested, leaning forward and laying his cheek against the swell of her breast.

“No,” she said doubtfully and then gasped as his fingers found their mark, slipping easily between the wet folds of her body.

“I wish to touch you with my tongue, there. And there and there.” His fingers grazed lightly along the tops of her thighs and his thumb settled between them, teasing the hair between her legs for a moment before pressing inward.

“Why?” It was more of a gasp than a question. And she made no effort to avoid his questing hand.

“My dear Anne,” he said. “I wish to have something from you that no other man will ever have. I know when I look into your eyes that mine were not the first lips to kiss you. And tonight I dare not seek the ultimate gift. There is no understanding between us. Some things must be saved for the man you would marry.”

“But this other kiss?” Her voice was slow and hoarse, drowsy, as though she was slipping into the spell that he cast. Her body relaxed and her legs spread farther offering no resistance.

“It will be our secret. No matter what else happens, we will have this.”

“Please,” she said, and it was a desperate plea for release.

“Of course,” he said, soothing her. He’d raised her skirt until he could see all of her, pink and glistening in the light from the banked fire, and watched her trembling as the chill air touched her, letting the warmth of his hand be a contrast to it. Then, with one last look at her beautiful face, he buried his face in the musky center of her, drawing the lips of her sex into his mouth and lapping eagerly between them.

Her body went rigid with the shock of it, and she cried out his name. He could feel the muscles of her thighs twitching and massaged them with his hands, forcing them to relax as he flicked lazily with his tongue, first against the little bud of her passion and then at the opening which would be his ultimate goal. He made a few tentative thrusts with his tongue and she gasped and rocked to evade him then wound her fingers in his hair. But she did not push him away, only dragging him forward to the place where he had begun.

Very well then, the lady knew what she wanted, and he was happy to give it to her. He swirled about it, whispering, kissing, sucking, as she murmured softly, “Oh. Oh. Oh.” Then he slid a hand up her leg to push two fingers into her as deeply as he could go. Her muscles clenched on him like a vise as she lost control and gave herself up to him, heart and soul.

She whimpered as he gave her a final, brief kiss and stroked her with his hand, almost as one might soothe a pet. Would that she could do the same to him. While she was clearly sated, he was anything but. He’d been hungering for her since their first day together, and now desire was roaring inside him, tearing at his soul. If he could not have her, here and now, he longed for a solitary release while the taste of her was still on his lips.

He laid his head against her knee for a moment, praying that this was but a temporary parting from her body. Then he pushed her skirts out of her lap, and straightened them over her legs. And he waited, at her feet, for her reaction.

“You should not have done that,” she said at last. Her eyes were bright with some emotion that he could not read.

“But if I did not, you would marry Joseph,” he said. “You do not love him. You love me, or you never would have permitted what just occurred.”

“I am still going to marry Joseph,” she said. “There is nothing else for me to do. But you have made it so much more difficult.”

He swore, low vehement oaths that made her flinch. But he did not care if his words hurt her. He had been sure, only a moment ago, that there would be nothing in the world that could part them, now that he had proven to her how it would be between them. Why, though he was on his knees before her like a supplicant, did she still wish for another?

Before he could speak, a voice called from the hall, “Anne?”

“Here, Mother.” She gave him a frantic look and he threw himself away from her, back into the darkest corner of the room as the door opened.

“What are you doing in here, of all places?”

“I felt feverish and hoped a brief nap would help me. I am sorry if I have caused difficulty …” She drew back into the shadows as well so that her mother could not see the tears shining on her lashes.

“Well, come on then. The carriage is almost ready.”

“A moment to compose myself, please. Then I will come.”

Her mother gave a sigh. “Very well, then. But Mr. Stratford has already retired. It is not yet our place to linger too long.” She withdrew from the room, and Robert heard her footsteps retreating down the hall.

He waited a moment before shutting the door. Then he returned to Anne’s side. She was weeping in earnest now and he put a hand on her shoulder to comfort her. “Am I the reason for these tears, Anne?”

“It is not you,” she sobbed. “It is everything. I do not know what to do.”

“You must cry off,” he said. “Tell your parents you cannot marry Stratford.

“They will not want to hear,” she said with a fresh sob.

“Then tell him,” Robert said. “I have confronted him on the subject. He will not break off, at this late date, for your sake. If you do not end it for yourself, it is quite hopeless. I will not speak, if you say nothing, no matter how much I might wish to. I have said more than enough, already. You must be the strong one, Anne.”

“And I never was,” she answered, not looking up. “Perhaps if Mary was here.”

She had mentioned her late sister before, when they had first met. It seemed that the Clairemonts subsided into a place of perpetual grief over the loss. Mary had become the ghost at the feast that blighted the family’s happiness. But what a child that was five years in the grave had to do with the current situation, he was not sure. “Then the lot would have fallen to her. Or it might never have occurred at all. But it does not matter. She is dead and gone, much as no one wishes to acknowledge the fact. You cannot rely on her for help. You must be the one to speak, Anne.”

Her tears fell faster, and she shook his hand from her shoulder. Then she stared at him, angry and resolute. “I am stronger than you know, Robert Breton. And that is why I will not alter what is about to occur. It is best for all of us. Do not think that you can change my mind with your sly words and your temptations, and your … pleasure.” The last word brought a fresh sob and she stifled it with a balled fist. Then she turned and fled the room.

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