Page 19 of Mistress of Sins

Arthur jerked himself out of her before he spilled, painting her thighs with his seed. He then shifted to one side and put his fingers to her well-opened quim, stroking her deftly until she arched under his touch and squealed.

Stretching out on his back beside her, he turned his head to study her profile. He usually took more care with where he found his pleasure, but after the weeks of enforced celibacy the temptation had been too much to resist. He had not kissed her, which ladies of her set expected, nor had she offered her mouth. The only women he knew who had such a practical approach to intimacy made their living from it.

“Do you make a habit of such, er, spontaneity, my dear?” Arthur asked her.

“Of course not.” Catherine reached over without looking and patted his chest as if to reassure him. “I have the benefit of a vastly experienced lover whom someday I will marry, Mr. Pickering. You may credit him with teaching me to fuck. We cannot meet often, however, or my parents would grow suspicious.”

That sounded reasonable enough to him. “Since we have fucked, then, I believe you should call me Arthur.”

“Why in heaven’s name would I do that?” She slid herself off the bed and shook down her skirts. “People would make assumptions inconvenient to us both.”

Arthur watched her peer into his mirror to replace and straighten her mask, and felt the blood rush back to his groin. “I should like to have you again before you go.”

Catherine glanced back at him and fluttered her lashes. “Sir, you are insatiable.” She came over to the bed, pushed him back flat, and opened his breeches. “Let me show you that which I most often employ to avoid other inconveniences. You will not have to spill on my legs this time.”

His eyelids drooped as she curled her fingers around his hardening shaft, and brought the now-straining head to her lips. “Your lover taught you to suck cock? I am all astonishment.”

“That and more,” she said just before she took him in her mouth, and slipped her fingers beneath his ballocks.

Chapter 12

The masquerade continued in boisterous fashion as Jennet joined those gathered in the ballroom. The music, the dancers and the laughter seemed overloud after the quiet gasps and carnal sounds she and Greystone had made in the hot house, but she did not mind. The noisier it was, the less opportunity she had to dwell on what she had done. Several gentlemen came to seek her as a partner, but she politely refused each one, claiming she had twisted her ankle. Instead she watched and listened and cursed herself silently.

Her family’s reckless streak had finally emerged in her, it seemed, with a vengeance.

An odd memory of her mother sitting her down the night before her wedding came back to Jennet. Margaret had been red-faced and deeply embarrassed as she tried to explain what to expect once she and Liam were married. She’d used sparse and wholly inadequate terms for the act of marital bliss, as she called it.

Men have knowledge of such matters. You must trust in William to deal with you gently and kindly. There will be some small pain, perhaps, but only in the beginning part. If you are blessed, you will increase your family in two seasons, and give me a grandchild.

After their passionate embrace in the meadow Jennet had already guessed much of what to expect from Liam on their wedding night. The remaining facts she had deciphered long before that from her observation of animals on the estate. She also knew well the consequences of such acts for the female of any species. Now with the slight soreness throbbing between her thighs, she understood why the recollection had returned to her.

I could be with child.

“There you are, Miss Reed,” a sweet voice said. “I was hoping to bid you farewell, but Mr. Branwen has gone off somewhere, and well, may I sit with you until he returns for me?”

Jennet looked up at Deidre Branwen’s hesitant smile, and tried to return it. “Of course, please do.”

“Thank you.” The vicar’s wife arranged her full skirts as she perched on the chair beside her, and let out a sigh of relief. “I do envy the energy of the young. I have danced but twice and feel exhausted. You are far wiser than I.”

“I doubt that, ma’am.” This was her punishment for making love with Greystone, Jennet thought wryly: having to converse with the most good-hearted, moralistic woman in Renwick. “I hope all is well with you and the vicar.”

“We are as tediously happy and content as ever.” Deidre looked out at the dancers whirling to a merry waltz tune. “Lucetta and Harshad, my sister-in-law and her husband, will be coming to spend Christmas with us. I am counting the days now, for we have grown as close as true sisters. They bring their twins with them, such sweet boys. Do you know that Lucetta met Harshad here, at Dredthorne Hall?”

“No, I did not.” Jennet had heard the gossip about the couple, of course; Lucetta Branwen had scandalized everyone in Renwick when she had married a gentleman from India. “Was it at a ball, like this one?”

“Oh, no, they both served the master here. That was a terrible time. We almost lost them to a madman, but I still cannot speak on that without weeping.” The older woman’s mouth thinned as she looked around them. “This place seems to draw tragedy to it. I would never have come, if not for my husband’s insistence. He always wishes to be a constant presence in village society.”

Jennet thought of all the times the vicar had come to Reed Park to look in on her and Margaret, especially after her mother had one of her panics. “He is a very good man, your husband.”

“My father wished me to marry for wealth and position equal to that of our family.” Deidre gave her a droll look. “You can imagine how he reacted when Mr. Branwen asked for my hand. Who could be more unsuitable than a near-penniless curate? Yet despite all the obstacles I was quite determined, although not by any conscious, rational resolve. He claimed my heart the moment I first saw him.”

As Liam had hers, Jennet thought. “Love at first sight, then. How romantic.”

“I found it terribly inconvenient, and vexing, and confusing. Yet I never wavered. Eventually Papa had to agree, for I threatened to go to Scotland with Mr. Branwen.” The older woman saw her reaction and patted her hand. “We believe we have some say regarding whom we love, but in truth I think love chooses us. We have but to decide if it is worthy of our devotion.”

The vicar’s wife was trying in her gentle way to warn her about Greystone, Jennet suspected, so she should set her mind at ease. “By chance does your husband have a younger, unattached brother?”

Deidre shook her head and laughed.