Ann Lethbridge - A Regency Courtesan's Pride - More Than a Mistress / The Rake's Inherited Courtesan

‘I enjoyed our kiss today. I would like to repeat the experience.’

His groin gave a pulse of approval. Why not, indeed? The urge to say yes filled his throat.

He walked to the window, before the words left his mouth. Before he did something he’d regret. ‘You are a beautiful woman. I cannot deny I find you alluring, but I no longer believe the impression you gave me on my first night here. Or my conclusion this morning that you might be an abbess.’

She gasped.

He turned with a smile. ‘Finding two very bold females in my bedroom this morning led me astray.’

A small smile of acknowledgement touched her lips. ‘I see how it might happen.’

He forced himself to say the next words. ‘I certainly recognise the spark of attraction between us, it was there from the first, but you are unmarried and therefore out of bounds. I’m sorry.’

Hades. How utterly priggish he sounded. But it was the right thing to do.

Her fingers played with the tie at her waist.

Bloody hell, if she didn’t take him at his word and leave he’d have that small knot untied and the whisper of silk covering her form puddled at her feet.

Randy bastard.

She glanced at him from beneath half-lowered lashes. ‘You are indeed a gentleman. But we are both adults, are we not? Both experienced in the ways of the world and capable of making our own decisions. Why should we not have one night of pleasure before you leave?’

He strode to face her toe to toe. She didn’t flinch. Her gaze didn’t drop from his as he held her chin between forefinger and thumb, tilting her face up, bringing her lovely mouth within reach of his own.

He wanted her.

More than he wanted to give her aid, he wanted her in his bed. Had wanted her since the moment she gazed at him on the road.

And here she was offering herself to him. Not a virgin, the kind of woman he must marry, but a bold sensual woman who knew what she wanted.

A groan rose in his throat. He forced it to silence. Closed his eyes briefly against the urges riding him hard and forced himself to speak. ‘Are you sure?’

‘Yes,’ she whispered, her body swaying towards him, her lavender perfume rising like incense to his senses, sweet and heavy.

He bent his head and claimed her mouth.

Merry sank into his embrace, clutched at the front of his robe with desperate fingers in case she collapsed to the floor on legs weak with relief.

She let her senses drift on the pleasure of his kiss, the lovely feel of his body hard against hers, the intruding thigh between her legs, the large hands roaming her body at will.

Ever since he had caressed her feet in the billiard room, her body had been on fire, her mind a senseless mess of conflicting and confusing thoughts. She wanted this, even if she was beyond the pale to him except in this most basic of passions.

Tonight she would have her desires fulfilled and out of the way, so she could plan how next to proceed without regret for what might have been.

His tongue licked her lips and pressed against the seam of her mouth. She opened to him, tasted brandy smoky on her tongue.

Her breasts felt heavy and full, the place between her thighs moist and tingling; she tilted her hips, increasing the pressure of his thigh and was rewarded by his brief indrawn breath.

She uncurled her fingers from the fabric of his robe and slipped them beneath, to run her hands over his broad expanse of chest.

She’d seen much of him in the billiard room and again as he lay naked on his bed with his eyes closed.

She’d been surprised but grateful for the candles’ revealing light. His body was gorgeous, his male member thick and large; she could feel it now pressing against her lower abdomen as his hand brushed up from the indentation at her waist to cover her breast.

She let go a long sigh of pleasure and a satisfied sound of male approval rumbled in his chest.

It sent a shiver down her spine.

Her fingers splayed across the warm silken skin of his chest, felt the roughness of hair and the puckered skin of his scar.

She longed to touch it with her tongue, taste it with her lips, but right now his mouth was taking her senses to new heights of arousal. She slipped her hands up to his shoulders and thrust her tongue in his mouth.

He groaned and swept her up in his arms, breaking the kiss. She looked up into his face.

‘My bed or yours?’ he asked.

‘Yours.’ She laughed. ‘It is closer.’

‘A sensible woman indeed,’ he murmured, his dark eyes hazy with passion and glinting with amusement.

He was so bloody handsome. It wasn’t fair.

But he was hers for now. And she would make the most of the one night he’d granted.

He frowned.

Had he sensed her regrets?

She smiled and licked her lips. ‘What now, you great gormless statue?’

At that he threw back his head and laughed out loud. He strode for the bed, pressing her back against the mattress, and gazed into her face. ‘Did I tell you how much I adore that tongue of yours?’

‘For what it says?’ she asked, fluttering her lashes. ‘Or what it can do?’

‘Hades,’ he muttered under his breath and swooped down for a kiss. Their mouths melded, blissfully fitting together. Her thoughts scattered as he plundered her mouth and she clasped her hands around the back of his neck, holding him tight, as she devoured the slick silkiness of his tongue in her mouth. She sucked.

He stilled.

Had she been too bold? Gone too far? Would he think her completely wanton? Her heart beat hard against her chest as he broke the kiss. She let her hands fall away as he drew back, his low-lidded gaze sweeping her body, his lips curving in a sensual smile of approval. ‘You are a feast for the senses.’

The words struck a chord low in her belly. Flutters tormented her feminine core. What was he waiting for? Suddenly shy, she twisted her fingers in the curls falling over her shoulder, staring at the strong column of throat emerging from his robe, at the rise of his angular cheekbones. In daylight they made his face look hard and stern, but now they made him look like a fallen angel.

Her angel. For one night. A yearning she did not expect pulled at her heart. Such yearning had no place in her life. She pushed it away and opened her arms to him.

He untied the cord at his hips, and discarded his robe in one easy movement. The scar across his chest gleamed white in the candlelight. It crossed sculpted muscle and striated ribs, missed his navel by an inch where it sliced a path across a stomach ridged with tight muscle to come to rest at his hipbone.

And below, the evidence of his desire, the engorged member jutting from wiry black curls, a dark tip. Proud and very male.

She sucked in a breath and raised her gaze to his face. His expression was dark, harsh and full of seduction.

She reached up and traced a finger down the scar’s length, from just above his left nipple to his right hip, where the skin jumped beneath her touch.

‘Ticklish?’ she asked.

Mischief gleamed in his dark eyes. ‘If so, be prepared for repayment in kind.’

Her skin tingled as his hot gaze seared every inch of her body. In a moment of weakness, a slight edge of fear that this dark angel would steal more than she was prepared to give, she covered herself, her breasts, her groin.

His brows lowered. ‘Unlike you to be shy, sweet Merry.’

What could she say? She hid behind rough words, yet none came to her tongue. She felt weak with yearning.

‘Will you stand there all night looking, then?’ Perhaps not completely undone. She brought her arms up, stretched like a cat, feeling the peaks of her breasts against the soft muslin of her nightgown.

He grinned. ‘Ah, sweet tormenting witch.’ Leaning over her, a hand each side of her head, he brought one knee up on to the bed, a tall man, with no need for the step. He nudged his knee between hers, a gentle insistent pressure of warm skin and hard bone.