On These Silken Sheets Read online

  The feel of him inside her, pushing upward through the tight, muscular canal was a delicious shock, a pause in the building desire. It felt right, perfect, as if he should always be joined in such a way. And then he kept moving: pulling out and thrusting back in, relentlessly, though she wouldn’t have it any other way.

  He shifted, supporting her weight with his left arm, his right hand coming up to cup her left breast. He tugged on the cloth of her dress, freeing the flesh. His bare hand on her breast, his thumb circling her nipple, made her move her hips more urgently against him.

  “You’re perfect,” Henry said into her ear, his breath hot and ragged. “Perfectly made.”

  He said more but she didn’t hear him because the blood was roaring in her ears and her body was convulsing around him, exploding, shooting fire in every direction. Her toes tingled. Her nipples as well.

  She collapsed in his arms, but he kept her up, pinned against the wall as he thrust harder and faster and finally released himself inside her with a hoarse cry.

  As her breathing evened out, she laughed with the sheer pleasure of it.

  “You’ll come to me tonight?” she asked. He was pulling out of her and she winced at the absence.

  “Greedy girl.” She felt his smile against her lips. “Nothing could keep me away.”

  Chapter Ten

  Agathe examined her critically when Carolina finally returned to the ballroom.

  “There was a line,” she offered, by way of explanation for her long disappearance.

  “I was beginning to think I’d have to come fish you out,” Agathe said rather crudely.

  “And there was so much gossip to listen to, I wasn’t really in a hurry,” Carolina added, hoping to distract her aunt’s attention. As much as she liked the woman, she didn’t think she could confess her newfound sexual escapades.

  “What gossip?” Agathe took the bait, her placidly indulgent expression assuming a predatorial caste.

  “Well, I don’t know any of the people mentioned, but perhaps it will have some meaning to you,” Carolina began. “I believe I heard that Lady Emma is now engaged to Lord Stanley Broughton, and that it is the first engagement of the season.”

  “Hmm, that is news,” Agathe mulled over this. “But Broughton isn’t much of a loss, all things considered. He may have considerable wealth and be the brother to a marquess, but he’ll never make a good husband. I wonder if Lady Emma knows.”

  “Why won’t he make a good husband?” Carolina asked, thinking of Bosworth. “Is he a rake?”

  Agathe laughed. “I suppose he might be, but there aren’t many men in the ton with his proclivities. He likes other men.” After a pause where Carolina stared at her blankly, waiting for more, Agathe added, “sexually.”

  Carolina’s jaw dropped.

  “That’s possible?” Then she thought about the unknown Lady Emma. “Well, he must be attracted to women as well, don’t you think?”

  “He’ll make do enough to get an heir off of her,” Agathe agreed. “Actually, in the scheme of things, it isn’t such a bad way to go with a husband. He’ll leave her alone and she’ll have the freedom to dally where she desires.” Her aunt grinned wickedly. “If you wish, my dear girl, I’ll find you a husband of the sort. I believe Lord Sedgwick is of that persuasion.”

  Carolina had danced with Lord Sedgwick early on in the evening.

  “No!” she gasped. “But he was staring at my bosom quite lasciviously. Are you certain?”

  Agathe shrugged. “I have no personal knowledge of the matter. Perhaps your father would know.”

  The matter of her aunt’s “personal knowledge” caught Carolina’s attention. She thought again of Henry.

  “Auntie,” she asked, “when were you and Stanton lovers?”

  Agathe shot her a knowing smile. “No use looking in that direction, no matter how delicious he is. That’s a man who will never marry, and no need considering. His cousin is his heir, and a more upstanding young man you’ll never meet, with four sons already!”

  Carolina waited.

  “It was years ago, maybe five or six, when he was riding your father’s coattails. Poor Thomas was on his deathbed and I needed the comforting. Just two or three nights we shared over the course of the year, but I remember clearly how well formed Bosworth is.”

  Carolina blushed, thinking of just how that well-formed part had felt inside her minutes ago.

  “No need to be missish, Carolina. I can see you are lusting after him,” Agathe chided her. “And what young girl wouldn’t be? But wait until after you’ve given your husband an heir. Then you may follow your desires.”

  Carolina nodded at this advice, as if she agreed, as if she’d stay away from Stanton. But her aunt Agathe didn’t know two important things: one, that Carolina, like Henry, would not dishonor her wedding vows, and two, that the damage had already been done.

  What lovely damage.

  Chapter Eleven

  You never came,” Lady Islington complained, rapping her fan on Henry’s arm.

  A lush woman, she was quite skilled with her tongue, he knew, but her delightful rosebud mouth was not the one he wanted on his cock this evening. No, he looked forward to that new pleasure with Carolina.

  Tonight, or the next night, or any that the long stretch of the season had to offer. He didn’t think he’d tire of her soon. And she was so eager for it.

  “Ah, but you want me now,” Lady Islington purred, staring as he grew hard in his breeches.

  Henry sighed. It was the one problem with the damned new tailored fashion for men. There was no privacy.

  “But of course, my lady,” Henry agreed. “Anticipation has its own pleasure.” He kissed her hand and backed away before she could cling to him.

  It was just after two. The ball would continue for a while longer, but Henry was no longer interested. Unless he could get Carolina away again, and even then, he wanted her in her bed.

  No, he wanted her in his bed.

  That he couldn’t have, not just yet, until he learned the habits of the Hargreaves townhouse better. Until he had Carolina’s full cooperation.

  But he wanted her in his bed with every candle lit and all the luxury of time to peruse her body, to savor each sweet curve.

  Chapter Twelve

  When he came to her that night, Carolina was waiting for him. She helped him undress, rolling his stockings down with the aid of her teeth, lifting his shirt over his head, her breasts pressed against his back.

  “No more torture,” Henry said gruffly. “I want to fuck you now.”

  Carolina paused at the harsh word. Fuck. Was that the word for what they did?

  “I’ve never heard that word before,” she whispered in the dark and then tried it on her lips. “Fuck.” It rolled off her tongue with a satisfying strength. “Yes, Henry, I want you to fuck me.”

  “You’re a naughty girl,” Henry said, grasping her hips as she moved onto her hands and knees on the bed. “Wonderfully naughty,” he enthused, sinking into her, pumping her with long, rhythmic strokes.

  He reached his hands up to grasp her swinging breasts, lifting their weight, kneading the flesh.

  “Fuck me, Henry,” she whispered again, a smile on her lips as she buried her moans into the pillow.

  The effect of her words almost had him losing control, but he caught himself, evening his breath, and he lowered his hand to speed up her climax. This first round would be quick.

  But they had many hours yet and he had no regrets.

  Chapter Thirteen

  At the Huxley ball they met in the conservatory, and with her knees pressed into the thick Aubusson carpet, Carolina learned how it felt to have him fill her mouth, his fingers massaging the back of her neck as he slowly eased in and out of her. When the rhythm changed and grew more urgent, he held her head in place and she gave herself over to his passion.

  He’d spent himself within her mouth and she’d held his buttocks, her own juices flowing, the knot of tension beg
ging for release.

  But noises in the hallway alerted them that they were out of time, and instead, behind the screen in the ladies’ retiring room, Carolina’s fingers had brought her own climax.

  When he asked her to dance a half hour later, she told him about it, describing how she’d thrust her fingers up into herself, imitating his, how she’d stifled her cries into her fist.

  That night, despite all sanity, he lit a candle in her room and urged her to show him. His eyes, intent with passion, had watched her from under those heavy lids, as her hands ran down her own body, tugging on her nipples until they stood at attention, making circles down the curve of her hips, the taut flat expanse of her belly, until she reached the triangle of dark curls.

  He touched himself as he watched her, stroking the hard length that she knew to be velvety soft. Even as her own passion rose, she licked her lips in appreciation. Now that she had his taste, she craved it like water.

  So, just as she felt the quickening in her, before it rose to too high a crescendo, she bent over and gently moved his hand away. Keeping her eyes on his, she took first one heavy sac into her mouth and then the other. Then with the hard point of her tongue licked from base to tip.

  Henry never let her finish. He growled deep in his throat, pulling her up, urging her astride him. And when she was positioned to his liking, he pulled her down hard, even as his own hips thrust upward.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Carolina’s days and nights developed a pattern. Sometime in the evening, at whatever event she attended, he would arrive, whisper to her the location, and she would meet him for a quick, scorching embrace. Then, just hours later, he would come to her room.

  The evenings when assignations were not possible made the nights even hotter and more urgent.

  In the pitch darkness of her bed, she learned every taste of his body, from that appealing curve under his jaw to the salty effusion of what she’d learned to call his cock.

  The footman, Jack, had become quite cheeky, winking at her when he opened the door of her carriage in the afternoons. And after her first appalled shock, she’d understood that he approved, and she winked back.

  Carolina’s mornings and afternoons passed in a haze of anticipated passion. She went for drives in the park, teas and calls, picnics and other outings.

  Now, recognizing the glimmer of attraction in other men’s eyes, she flirted shamelessly to relieve the boredom until night came and Henry.

  There were other handsome men, other intelligent men, and indeed Carolina realized she knew nothing of Henry but his body and his sexual skill.

  Over the weeks, two men became her regular companions: Anderson, Earl of Oakley, and Sir Robert George. They both had been vetted by her father, and Lord Hargreaves made it clear that if she chose between these two men he would be pleased with his daughter.

  Neither man was the toothless old codger of whom Agathe had warned, a fact that had its own detractions, for a younger man might take offense if one soon sought a lover. If she too quickly craved Henry’s touch and too quickly threw away all her morality.

  Oakley was young, just finished with his studies, but he had a mature demeanor and was actively looking for a wife. Tall and dark haired, he reminded Carolina of Henry six years ago, when he might very well have still been called a youth, though past his majority. That alone made Oakley appeal to her, even if his touch on her gloved hand was exceedingly polite and gentle, and her pulse remained even in his presence. His love of poetry also appealed, as well as the fact that he’d taken his place in the House of Lords with passion and dedication.

  His attraction was entirely different from Bosworth’s. In Oakley she would find a safe, attentive, responsible mate. Agathe had assured her that he was a man who would never take a mistress. Her childhood self, before Stanton, would have longed for such a man to ride up and free her from her isolation.

  Sir Robert George was older, older than Henry and nearer to her father’s age. Though not much taller than she, he had a straight nose, full lips and eyes that she couldn’t help but think pretty. He was also exceedingly wealthy.

  He whispered naughty jokes in her ear as if he knew she was ripe for the plucking. She laughed nervously, but his breath was sweet against her ear and she thought he would not be hideous in the marriage bed—might even be skilled enough to get past her apathy. But aside from the naughty jokes, she found little of his conversation appealing, and she rather suspected that with this man it would be much harder to conceal her lack of virginity.

  When the time came, Carolina knew she would have to confide in Agathe and ask her how to attend to that small task. Her aunt would surely know.

  Chapter Fifteen

  One afternoon, Carolina went for a drive in the park with Sir Robert and her aunt. The lane was full of carriages and the horses marched along sedately.

  “Do you ride, Miss Hargreaves?” Sir Robert asked, leaning in closer than necessary. Aunt Agathe coughed discreetly but he ignored her hint.

  “I do ride,” Carolina answered. “It is one of the great pleasures of the country.”

  “But always sidesaddle?” Sir Robert pressed. Agathe coughed harder and Carolina patted her on the back, but at the woman’s rolling eyes she realized just what Sir Robert was suggesting. The man was a walking bag of double entendres!

  She flushed hotly, though she knew she should pretend no knowledge of what the man meant, but the vision of her above Henry, her thighs clutching his hips, setting the pace, had her wet and pulsing.

  Sir Robert smiled and she realized that he thought her blushing was in reaction to him.

  “I think it would be nice to walk,” Carolina said abruptly.

  “A stretch across the grass would be lovely,” Agathe agreed, and Sir Robert pulled on the reins accommodatingly.

  He handed the reins to his tiger and came around to help first Agathe, and then Carolina, down. His hands lingered on her hips.

  “Perhaps you’ll ride with me,” he suggested as she slid down to the ground. His hands slid up as well, coming to rest just under her breasts.

  “Perhaps,” Carolina said calmly, schooling her features into the picture of innocence.

  She looked past his shoulder to where Agathe waited impatiently and then saw Henry, not so very far away, astride his own sleek mount, his lips thinned into an angry line as he watched them. It was the first time she had seen him in bright light since she’d arrived in London, and she thought him magnificent.

  She wanted to run to him, but she settled with moving past Sir Robert and joining her aunt. Together, they watched Henry incline his head slightly in greeting and then turn his horse around.

  “I’m surprised to see him,” Agathe drawled. “I’ve always rather thought of Stanton like a vampire, appearing only at night, shunning the sunlight.”

  Carolina realized with a jolt that she never saw Henry during the day, only at night, though she’d always mentioned her daytime agenda, just in case.

  “There are any number of places a man may spend his days,” Carolina returned, affecting an idle tone. “I’d say it’s simply coincidental that we chance to see him on this one.”

  Secretly, she thought differently. He knew very well that she had other beaus, that her father sought a husband for her.

  But maybe seeing was different from hearsay, Carolina thought, puzzling over his harsh expression. Was it possible that seeing Sir Robert holding her so familiarly had made Henry jealous?

  She longed to confide in Agathe and ask what the older woman thought, but that would mean admitting to her nighttime activities, and she didn’t want to just yet. Not until she was ready to give them up.

  In any event, how could it matter if he was jealous? Henry had said quite clearly, so many years ago—his words influencing her own views on the matter—that he would never marry, not unless he could be faithful to the vows before God, and as that was impossible, so would be marriage.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Do you
want him?” Henry asked, one long finger engulfed in Carolina’s heat.

  She found it hard to think as he added another finger. She marveled at how different the feel of his fingers was from his cock. Where one instrument incited pinpricks of excruciating pleasure in her belly, the other filled her, stretched her, made her feel as if she and Henry were one melded person. Joined with him, she forgot where he began and she ended. And movement—sometimes it felt as though they were underwater, as if she were swimming in the lake back home and he was everywhere around her and in her.

  “Do you want him?” he persisted.

  There were three of his fingers in her now and his thumb traced magical circles. She didn’t think her legs would hold her up much longer. She turned her face to the arm he had stretched out and licked the underside of his wrist hungrily.

  “Carolina.”

  There was a pleading note in his voice and it caught her attention. With glazed eyes she looked into his eyes. They were so dark. Dear Lord, how could green eyes ever be so dark?

  She glanced away, to the pale yellow of the fabric-lined walls. This was somebody’s bedchamber, someone in the Allyns family, but she didn’t know whose.

  She swung her gaze back to his.

  “I want only you, Henry.”

  The tension in his face eased. His hand retreated and she heard him fumbling with the falls of his breeches.

  “But I may have to marry him if my father insists.” She wasn’t quite sure why she added that last, but it served to infuriate Stanton. He pulled her hard against him, kissing her, and then lifting her up.

  Dizzy, she felt him cross the room. Then the edge of the bed was beneath her and he thrust into her, claiming her, the force of his actions pushing her deep into the counterpane and feather mattress beneath.