Regency Society. Ann Lethbridge
your wife what she has to say on the matter?’
‘I would have asked, had I been able to persuade her to visit me. I requested her presence this evening and she ignored me.’
‘So that is it,’ she said. ‘You are angry with her and everyone around you must take the blame for it. But you take no part of the fault for yourself, of course.’
‘I?’ He disentangled her arms from his neck.
‘If you had spoken honestly to her before now, she might not have chosen another. And you would be telling her of your displeasure, not some woman that you barely know.’
‘That is not true at all,’ he argued. ‘In my experience, I am doing nothing so unusual. Few men speak to their wives. When they wish to discuss things of importance to them, they seek the company of other men.’
‘And when they wish to unburden their souls?’ she pressed.
‘Then they go to their mistresses. When a woman is paid to do as she is told, she is less likely to disagree. A wife, though she might swear at the altar to be obedient, seldom is. Emily has proven thus. And I would have thought her the most tractable female on the planet. Until today.’ He stared up at the ceiling with a furrow in his brow, as though, for all his fine talk, he had never really believed her capable of leaving him.
‘And suppose you find yourself with a woman who owes you no obedience at all?’ She reached up to touch his face, putting a hand to his forehead and smoothing the lines with her fingers.
‘Then I would have a mind to show her a new use for her pianoforte.’ He kissed her palm.
‘Do you mean to invite her to your home, so that you might play a duet?’ she teased.
‘More likely I would be inclined to bend her over the stool for her impudence, and love her until she was more agreeable.’ His voice was husky, and he pulled her close, kissing her hard until his anger began to dissipate.
She opened her mouth, and let him convince her, marvelling at how little effort it took him to arouse her. A word or two, a kiss, a touch. And she wanted to be his. She pulled away, slow, almost drowsy, and murmured back at him. ‘You presume too much, my lord. Do you think you can force all women to submit to your every wish?’
‘Not all women,’ he whispered back. ‘Just you. Because you do not want chaste duets in the drawing room any more than I want to play a pianoforte. We are physical creatures, you and I. Not made to sit tamely to the side while the rest of the world dances.’
Emily had never thought of herself in that way before. But it was true. She was happier walking his land, visiting cottages and farms, meeting the stock and the people than she would have been sitting with her needlework in the drawing room, waiting for her husband to favour her with a visit. And when he talked to her, rough and low as he was doing now, she felt like a sybarite. The things he suggested made her flush with eagerness and not embarrassment. Instead, she focused her mind on more innocent pursuits. ‘If there is music, you would rather dance than play, my lord?’
He considered. ‘I have never tried. There has been scant little music in my life, these last few years.’ He swept her into his arms as though he heard a waltz and spun her once, bumping her into a chair.
She felt him hesitate, gripped his hand tighter and said, ‘A moment, please.’ Then she released him, righted the furniture and pulled him into the doorway of the salon. ‘Now try again.’
He began more slowly this time, and they took a few steps without incident. ‘I will lead,’ he said, ‘but you must guide me.’ He turned her again.
They were nearing a table now. ‘Left. No. Right.’ The turning had confused her for a moment, and they moved past it, rocking the china ornaments upon it, but not breaking them. ‘Now straight back for a bit. And turn again, another right. And there is a circuit of the room.’
He gave her a final flourish and her silk skirts sighed about her legs, and then settled.
Adrian nodded, as though satisfied with their success, and then dismissed it as unimportant. ‘Of course, there is no orchestra to keep the beat. And we did not have to navigate a room full of people.’
‘Dancers with all their sight cannot manage as well as you have done. It seems I cannot escape a rout without crushed toes and bumped elbows. And I am sure you would find a dance, with lines and patterns, to be easier. A drunken idiot can manage the Sir Roger de Coverley.’
‘Thank you for your confidence in me,’ he murmured sarcastically. ‘But dancing in a crowded room would not be quite so pleasant as holding my partner close like this when we are alone.’ He had her now, in his arms, swaying as though he still heard a tune. But they were far too close to be waltzing, their bodies rubbing together until she could feel them both becoming aroused.
‘I do not think what we are doing now can be called dancing,’ she said a little breathlessly, brushing her breasts against the front of his coat and feeling the roughness of the net bodice against her nipples.
‘What would you call it, then?’ he asked. His hands bunched in her skirt, pressing their hips together, but his lips brushed lightly against hers.
‘I think you are trying to seduce me again.’
One of his hands found the pocket slit in the side of her skirt, and reached inside to press his palm against the bare skin of her leg. ‘Am I likely to be successful?’
She rubbed her cheek against his. ‘I think you might be.’ She swayed against him, letting him urge her closer, slipping one of her legs between his and drawing her foot up the inside of his calf. He caught her leg between his, tightening his muscles, and she felt the now-familiar rush of feeling, knowing he was close to her, knowing what would come next between them.
She rubbed herself against him with a little moan, and he pushed her back against the edge of a desk, getting some distance between their bodies to put a hand down the loose bodice of her gown. ‘You are a most welcoming woman, my dear. Bare under your dress again tonight. I think, if I had a mind to, you would let me take you here.’
‘Yes,’ she said with a groan, thinking how wonderful it would be if he would lose control.
‘I could just hoist up your skirt …’
‘Yes …’ He was kissing her, short sharp bites on her lips, down her throat.
‘Undo a few buttons …’
‘Yes …’ One hand, tight upon her breast, the other in her skirt, squeezing her leg.
‘And I could be inside of you, before anyone was the wiser.’ He was holding her body a tantalising inch from his. And she pressed herself down onto his thigh.
‘Show me,’ she whispered back and pushed her hands between the buttons of his vest, searching to touch skin and not clothing.
‘Wait.’ He laughed. ‘Wait. There is time. We do not need to rush. Let me take you into the bedroom.’
But if they took their time, he would be careful. And while it would be wonderful, it would not be what she truly wanted. ‘No. Here, now. Quickly.’ She kissed him, deep and wet, pushing her tongue into his mouth, sucking his back into hers.
And for a moment, he stopped resisting her and pulled her hips forwards, wrapping a hand around them to lock her sex to his, grinding against her through their clothing. She wrapped her arms around his neck, lifting herself onto her toes, making it easier to join with him.
Then he pulled his lips from hers and gave a shaky sigh. ‘No, my sweet. Let us go lie down and treat each other properly.’
‘And suppose I do not wish you to be proper?’ she said. ‘Suppose I wish you to be rough with me, and finish with me quickly and carelessly, in a public room, because you cannot stand to wait?’ She ran her leg up between his thighs until she could feel his manhood and pressed hard against it, rubbing her knee against him until he groaned.
Then