Page 50 of A Siren for the Duke

When the dance ended, she curtsied, and he bowed, and then the room erupted in happy applause. Lionel was about to suggest they find a more private place, but another gentleman approached her almost as soon as she’d finished curtsying. With a polite smile, she accepted, then shot Lionel a look as if to say, I’ll be back for you.

He could not wait.

* * *

Jemima hated to admit it, but she’d quite enjoyed the ball. After the scandal had broken two years prior, she had not attended many public events in order to save face. She’d tried as soon as it broke to show the ton that she was perfectly fine, but people shunned her and her family. Out in public, respectable families would cross to the other side of the street when they saw her approaching as if they’d catch her presumed licentiousness like a disease. No one invited her or her mother to tea, parties, or balls. Lady Upton had decided that it was best for Jemima to stay out of the spotlight for a while. At first, Jemima was grateful. But as time passed, she realized she missed her friends. She missed dressing up nicely, and she really did like dancing. Then, when she started attending social events again, it had purely been to search for a husband and it had felt like a job. The Sherwood ball had been exceptional, though. Something about the magic of the Caribbean had made it all the more fantastic. Just thinking about it made it difficult to sleep.

But so did the humidity. She was unused to the air being so hot and moist. Mrs. Sherwood had given her a very light linen nightgown, and Esther had said that sleeping with the windows open would help the air run through. Unfortunately, it also let in bugs, so Jemima tied the gauzy curtains of the four posters. She lay in bed, sweating ever so slightly, and tried to count imaginary sheep, but she still couldn’t sleep. What’s more—she could not stop thinking of Lionel. His flattery, kind words, the closeness of their bodies in the ballroom as they danced... she had been prepared to say yes and follow him to some discrete location where they could enjoy each other privately. Now, in the middle of the night, she wanted him. But it was more than a want—it was a craving. She needed to feel his touch again like she needed to breathe air. The house was quiet enough. The guests were all gone and had been for a few hours. Mr. and Mrs. Sherwood had given their goodnights and retired to their chamber. If she was quiet and crept on tiptoes, perhaps she could make it to Lionel’s room.

Deciding not to think about it anymore, her fingers practically tore open the gauzy curtains on one side of the bed and pushed them back. She grabbed the light cotton dressing gown from the back of the chair at the vanity.

This was it. She was going to make her move. It might be her last chance to be with Lionel alone again. The future was so uncertain; she needed to take any and all advantage of what little freedom she had left.

When she opened the door, she was surprised to see Lionel standing there in an equally disheveled state. The both of them blinked at each other in surprise. How serendipitous it was that they had the same idea!

“I—” Lionel began, but he never got to finish his sentence. Jemima pulled him into her bedroom by the front of his shirt, closed the door behind them, and kissed him wantonly. He seemed stunned at first, but eventually, he gave in, his arms encircling her waist, pulling her flush against him.

“You were coming to see me?” she asked lightly.

He nodded.

“I wanted you. After that dance, I... I needed you..”

Conscious of the sound of her voice, she immediately clapped a hand over her mouth.

“We must be quiet,” she whispered as Lionel began backing her toward the bed.

“Let them hear,” Lionel growled.

The backs of her legs hit the edge of the bed, and she might have fallen back if Lionel had not been holding her. Even though they’d done this before, it had been quite some time, and she’d never lain with another man. The prospect was even more exciting now. When they’d made love together on the beach in England those years ago, it had been a hurried affair, with her petticoat rucked up over her hips in case anyone were to catch them. Of course, there was always the danger of being caught, even now, but Jemima did not feel as if the consequences mattered. There was an ocean between her and England, and she intended to savor this moment. After all, love tasted sweetest when forbidden.

“Not too loud, though,” she admonished. “I would not like to shock our hosts.”

“I’d like to shock you,” he murmured against her cheek.

Jemima didn’t have much chance to respond as Lionel attacked her neck with hot, open-mouthed kisses, all the while pushing her further onto the bed. Their hands were a flurry of activity, removing each other’s nightclothes until they were completely bare to one another. Her breath caught in her throat. The moonlight shone through the open balcony window, bathing Lionel’s muscular form in a silvery glow. She’d never been more grateful for the moon as she drank in the sight of him. He was lean, muscular, tanned, and scarred in various places on his torso. At another time, she’d ask what those were about. For now, all she wanted was to feel his body against hers.

“I knew you were stunning, but this…” Lionel breathed, his eyes raking up and down her bare form. “You’re a goddess. My sea goddess. My Calypso.” With that, he lowered his body to hers and continued kissing her neck, collarbone, and breasts. He spent a decent amount of time there, kissing, sucking, and just feeling. When his mouth closed over a nipple, she gasped and threw her head back at the sensation.

“That pleases my goddess, hmm?” he murmured against her breast.

“Immensely,” she breathed, rolling her head forward again to look at him.

“Then allow me to properly worship at her altar,” he said and kissed his way down her torso slowly, as if savoring every inch of her soft flesh. Jemima had to fight the giggles when his lips brushed a sensitive spot—she did not want to alert the house of their activities, after all. Her legs parted for him easily and needed no urging. He kissed his way down her thighs, lingering at the tops, then gradually to her inner thighs. She felt as if she could not breathe for the anticipation. Her entire body thrummed with energy. Each touch, no matter how urgent or featherlight, seemed to make the flames of passion dance more fervently.

She was not prepared for how it felt. When his mouth was on her, her eyes rolled back into her head. He was so gentle yet so insistent. With each kiss or flick of his tongue, she felt a molten heat pool in her belly. It did not take long for it to turn white hot, especially when he inserted a long finger into her as he kissed. She let forth a strangled cry of pleasure that she’d never made before, and suddenly, her whole body went rigid as that molten heat built up and exploded in her lower belly. Lionel continued to kiss her inner thighs and stroke her hips as her legs shook with the intensity of it. Then he kissed his way up her body again, settling his form comfortably atop hers.

“Did my goddess find that a pleasing offering as well?” he purred.

Jemima was still speechless, so she nodded vigorously. He laughed and kissed her cheeks one by one.

After she was able to properly catch her breath, she held Lionel’s face in her hands, suddenly aware of the intensity of his eyes, his warm breath on her face, and the stubble on his cheeks.

“What are you looking at?” he asked.

She tilted her head, still holding his face in her hands.

“I cannot call you the god to my goddess. That seems wrong.”