Louise Allen – Regency Scoundrels And Scandals (страница 66)

He expected it before battle, welcomed it to keep him sharp and alert. It amused him to feel it now, before the start of a new affaire. It was novel, that feeling in these circumstances, but then Belinda was different somehow. He had never been a careless or thoughtless lover, he reassured himself as he made his way unerringly through the familiar house. But this was important to get right.

He paused halfway up the stairs, frowning into the darkness. Why was that? Then he shrugged. The lady was not going to thank him for keeping her waiting while he brooded on the philosophy of relationships. As soundlessly as he had moved operating behind enemy lines Ashe drifted upstairs, turned right on to the landing and scratched lightly on the door panel.

She opened the door to him on to a room lit by a candelabrum on a side table and another by the bedside. As he stepped inside, Bel closed the door and moved wordlessly to stand by the table. It looked as though she had been sitting there reading.

The flickering light struck rich reflections off her unbound hair, as though amber had been threaded through its brown length. Ashe wanted to lift it, run his fingers through it. All in good time. Patience: she is worth it. ‘Lady Belinda.’

‘My friends call me Bel,’ she confided, her voice husky with nerves.

‘Bel.’ He tried it and smiled, pleased with the sound on his tongue. A small word, but sweet and rounded, like her. ‘Lovely. It suits you.’ She was wearing a long robe of amber silk tied with ribbons that fluttered as she moved. Under it he could see a nightgown in a deeper hue. With her hair heavy on her shoulders and her bare toes peeping out, she was the woman he remembered from that first night.

Only he did not recall her being this pale, nor her eyes looking so enormous in the oval of her face. Last night, at the dance, she had not seemed so fragile. ‘Are you all right, Bel?’ He moved to come to her and stopped, his toe stubbing against something. He looked down. Malevolent green-glass eyes glinted up from a massive furry head. His toes were against a set of savage teeth. That ridiculous bear again. ‘Good evening, Horace,’ he said, sidestepping the thing.

Bel gave a little gasp of laughter. ‘I am all right. I am just…nervous, I suppose.’

‘So am I,’ Ashe said easily, closing the distance between them. Hell, she looked as though she had not slept at all, and the hem of her gown was vibrating as though she was shivering. He had the sudden thought that if he clapped his hands she would faint out of sheer alarm. Now was not the time to stand around talking, she needed sweeping off her feet.

Ashe lifted his hands to her shoulders, feeling the slender bones and his breath hitched in his throat. She stood watching him, grey eyes wide so he saw his own reflection as he lowered his mouth to hers.

The shock jolted through him as their lips touched. What was it? The scent of her, faintly floral, wholly feminine—or the taste of her? Even at that light touch he could sense sweetness. But he had touched his lips to her skin before, held her close. Perhaps that familiarity accounted for the sense of rightness as he angled his mouth to slide questing over hers.

Bel gave a little gasp against his lips, but her hands came up to press against his upper chest as though she did not know whether to hold on or push him away. He let his tongue explore along the seam of her lips, wondering how easily she would open to him, how she would taste as he slid inside. Surely she understood what he was doing, what he wanted? He sucked gently on that deliciously pouting lower lip and felt her jolt of surprise.

It seemed she did not understand. Ashe did not try to force it, but eased the pressure, letting his tongue slide over the swell of her lower lip. Her hands crept up to curve over his shoulders and she moved a little closer. Encouraged, he let his own hands slide down to hold her against him, supple, yielding as she had been in the waltz, letting him lead.

He sucked her lower lip into his own mouth and she came up on tiptoe, pressed against him so that the urge to cup her buttocks and crush her against his swelling groin was almost painful. At last her mouth was opening to his gentle assault. Ashe slid his tongue between her lips, into the warm, moist sweetness and her own tongue moved to touch his in a shyly tentative caress. He did not think he had ever felt anything so touching as that innocently trusting gesture.

It seemed her husband was not a magnificent lover who had left his wife bereft after all. But how could a man be married to Bel and not want to lavish every art of seduction and eroticism upon her? How could she be this innocent?

She was clinging to his shoulders now and he sensed it was only that grip that was keeping her standing. Gently Ashe lifted his mouth and smiled down at her. The colour was animating her face now, a little smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. Already it seemed fuller, more swollen from his assiduous kisses.

‘Hello,’ he murmured, as though she had been away.

‘Hello.’ Her lashes fluttered down to hide her eyes and he opened his hands to release her. Those frivolous ribbons fluttered with the movement and he began to undo the bows, slowly, indulgently, letting the sensual slide of the silk satin through his fingers tantalise him with the thought of how her skin would feel when he caressed her.

‘I can do that,’ she said uncertainly, her hands fluttering above his as he worked with slow concentration.

‘I enjoy it. This is a very lovely garment; the colour is perfect against your skin, your hair.’ The last bow yielded and the robe fell open to reveal the low-cut neckline of the nightgown. Ashe had seen the lovely swell of her breasts before—this was no lower cut than the fashionable gown she had worn last night, but this time it was for him alone, and he could touch her. Holding his breath, he trailed the back of his fingers across the exposed skin.

Bel gasped, stepped back, but he simply stepped forward, matching her retreat, caught the edges of the robe and pushed it off her shoulders. Long, slim arms, bare now without gloves, the light glinting on her skin, turning it to ivory, and shoulders, naked except for slim ribbon straps, sloping elegantly up to the column of her neck. The pulse there was beating wildly, he could see it, was immeasurably aroused by it. Low down, where he ached for her, his echoing pulse throbbed with urgent need.

‘Belle.’ He gave it a lingering French intonation, laying his fingers gently against the betraying pulse. ‘Belle. You are so lovely, so lovely.’

‘Should I…should I get into bed?’

He had planned to kiss her almost insensible there where they stood, then scoop her up and enjoy the sight of her sprawled on the deep green satin of the bed cover. But all his instincts told him to go slowly, let her do what seemed comfortable to her. ‘If you like.’

She edged backwards, lifted the side of the covers. ‘With the candles lit?’

‘Why, yes. I want to see you.’

‘You do?’ She slid into bed and sat watching him, the covers up to her chin.

‘Definitely!’ Ashe sat down with caution on the delicate bergère armchair, took off his shoes, undid the buckles at the knee of his evening breeches and began to roll down the silk stockings. With his feet bare he stood up and shed his coat, letting it fall with a carelessness that would have wrung a moan from his valet’s lips.

As he began to unbutton his waistcoat, Bel stammered, ‘What are you doing?’

‘Undressing.’ He dropped the garment on to the coat and pulled the knot of his neckcloth free.

‘But…don’t you want to do that in the dressing room?’

Ashe stared at her. ‘No. No, I would like to undress here, where I can watch you.’

‘Oh.’ Bel shut her eyes. ‘Oh, dear.’

‘Bel.’ They stayed shut. ‘Bel, I know you have seen a naked man before—’

‘No, I have not.’

‘What?’ Ashe sat down, heedless of the crushed garments on the chair. No, do not tell me you are a virgin. Please! You heard about it. Marriages that stayed unconsummated for one reason or another. He had never made love to a virgin in his life, and he was most certainly not going to start now.

‘I have never seen a naked man because Henry always used to come to my chamber in his nightgown and then snuff out the candles,’ Bel explained prosaically, eyes still screwed firmly shut. Ashe let out a tightly held breath and felt the sweat cooling on his brow.

‘And then he would take his nightshirt off?’

‘Oh, no. He would get into bed and kiss me on the cheek and then he would…you know.’

‘With his nightshirt on?’

‘Of course.’ Bel opened her eyes cautiously as though expecting to see him standing there indecently naked and rampant. She seemed relieved to find him still in shirt and breeches.

‘And you still in your nightgown?’ She nodded. ‘And then he would make love to you?’ Another nod.

‘And then he would kiss me on the cheek again and say “Thank you dear. Goodnight”, and off he would go until Wednesday. Or Saturday.’

‘He would visit your room twice a week on set days?’ Ashe knew he was staring, but couldn’t help himself. His mouth was probably open. The man must have either had ice water in his veins or have been blind. Or both.