A Regency Virgin's Undoing: Lady Drusilla's Road to Ruin / Paying the Virgin's Price. Christine Merrill
course of action.’
‘Probably not,’ he admitted.
‘But it is …’ she wet her lips and touched them to his earlobe ‘… quite pleasant. And I suppose, as long as we are still standing and not lying down together …’
‘Which we will not,’ he assured her.
‘And we are both fully dressed …’
‘Which we will remain,’ he added, swearing to himself that it was true and realising that she must understand very little of what he could accomplish without breaking either of her restrictions.
‘Then it cannot be so very bad.’ She then smiled against his skin.
‘That is good. For I am not ready to let you go.’ He kissed her again, dragging his lips along the curve of her jaw, to her throat and shoulder, and back up again, until his lips were resting beside her ear and he could whisper back to her, ‘May I touch you again?’
‘Please do.’
Then he let his hands go where they wished, exploring every inch of her that he could reach. Firm breasts. Tiny waist. Flat belly. He let his thumb sink into the dent that was her navel and imagined joining with her. Round bottom. Soft lush thighs. He pushed his hand between them and imagined those thighs wrapped around his waist. Then he cupped her womanhood, pressing his palm upwards, squeezing it possessively, feeling the heat of her in his hand and envisioning how she would look if he undid the drop of his breeches. ‘Does this do anything to ease your suffering?’ For it was increasing his, sure enough.
He waited for her to struggle free of his grasp, but instead her hands reached out to grasp his biceps to steady herself and she pushed back against his palm, groaning at the increased sensation. ‘That is the spot, exactly,’ she said, clearly amazed that he had guessed. And then added, ‘Perhaps, a little less gently.’
‘Very well, Lady Drusilla.’ He looked into her eyes and smiled, then allowed himself the freedom to stroke more vigorously, imagining the flesh heating and growing damp at his touch. She closed her eyes. But her lashes still fluttered, as though she could not control them, and her neck arched ever so slightly as she caught her lower lip in her teeth. ‘More?’ he asked, leaning close and letting his breath caress her skin.
But she was quite beyond speech at this point, lost in the beginnings of a wordless response to his touch. She gave the barest nod of encouragement. In a few more strokes of his hand, her lips were trembling, open, moist and perfect. And so he kissed her roughly, pulling her body to meet his, safely separated by their clothing as he thrust himself against her and imagined being inside her, surrounded by her, consumed.
Her tongue came to life, darting against his in frenzy as her hands tightened on his arms. He was desperately hard and more than half-wishing that he had not started a game that could not end in his own satisfaction, but equally happy to have his supposed employer gasping into his mouth and pressing her sex eagerly against his as though she could not get enough of him. And he felt the moment that she lost the last of her control and came for him, breaking the kiss in a desperate bid for air as her back arched and her body went limp, swooning in his arms.
He held her like that for a moment, almost lifeless. And he brushed the hair from her eyes and thought, I did this to you. And it was the first time. ‘Dru,’ he said softly, loving the sound of the word.
She took a great, smiling, shuddering breath.
Then she realised how she had behaved and was shaking off the near-swoon and pushing away from him, brushing hands down to straighten the skirts that she was not wearing, trying to pull together the injured dignity of Lady Drusilla Rudney and pretend that she was still in charge. ‘What was that?’ The words were said with a stern frown as though her own physical response to his touch was somehow a trick that had been played upon her.
He gave her a benign smile. ‘That was a perfectly normal, physical reaction.’
‘To your kiss?’
‘I suspect it had more to do with the way the breeches were fitting, and my—’ he glanced down and then quickly back up at her outraged face ‘—ministrations in that area. You will find you feel much more relaxed, now that the moment has passed. And you can just as easily perform the actions yourself, should you feel the need again.’
‘Certainly not.’
‘Or I will continue to help you, if you wish.’ He smiled, thinking that it was unlikely anyone would give him a reference should they find out what had happened and deciding that he did not care one whit who her father was, or what it might do to his career. He would not take back a moment of what had gone on between them.
‘You know that is not what I meant at all,’ she snapped. ‘I would prefer not to feel this way. Certainly not ever again.’
The thought that she would not want to experience unbridled response was disheartening. But by the look in her angry eyes, Lady Drusilla had no real complaints with the way he performed his duties. There was a softness in them that she was trying very hard to hide from him.
‘I feel unsettled. Even, after … the improper thing you just did to me.’ Then she added in a whisper, ‘It is as if I have forgotten to finish a task. And I do not know, for the life of me, what it is.’
If he was not careful, he would have those breeches off her and lay her down in the grass right now to help her remember. He was a careless fool and this had been a mistake. A horrible lapse of judgement. It was the first step on a journey that he would never be allowed to take.
He caught her warm brown eyes with his gaze and held them. ‘I am afraid you are quite as finished as I can allow you to be, Lady Dru. Pleasurable though it would be, I do not dare show you the rest. I apologise for my behaviour,’ he said, taking the burden of the indiscretion upon himself. ‘It will not happen again and we need never speak of it. We will treat it as if it never occurred, if you wish.’
He was backing away from her now and it felt as if he were backing away from the act itself. Do not make me go.
‘Thank you,’ she said, her voice brittle.
‘I had best see to the horses. And you … can take this to prepare a bed.’ He tossed her a blanket from his pack. ‘You will find the hay is quite comfortable. And I will just … The horses …’ And he turned from her, stumbling towards the horses and wading into the icy cold stream.
It will not happen again.
That was rather a shame, she thought, as Dru gathered the blanket to her body and went to shoo the cow from the hay. The less sensible part of her wanted to demand an immediate repeat of the experience.
All she had wanted was a kiss. And she had assumed that, if she allowed him, that was all he would take, as he had with Char. But she had underestimated Mr Hendricks, just as she had from the first. Things had got quite out of hand. And while he had claimed that what he was doing was meant for edification and was merely meant to assist her in being comfortable, she suspected that there was much more to it than he had let on.
But she was not likely to know what had occurred without further experimentation and questioning of the man. What had happened was so pleasant that she was quite sure it must be unusual, unhealthy or improper. She sighed. Many things that were pleasant seemed to fall into those categories.
But, if this was what came of wearing trousers, then it explained much of what she had heard of men and their insatiable desires. There had been nothing in Mr Hendricks’s other behaviour that had made her think of a man crazed by lust. But her governesses had assured her that all men became so on the least provocation.
Of course, they had been quite sketchy on the details of what such a mania might entail. But she was sure that there would be some obvious sign of it. In any case,