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“I…do not take this amiss, Vivianna, but you have not been much out in the world. Oh, I know you have done a great deal to help those less fortunate, and that you have seen the seamier side of life. But you have remained innocent in matters concerning young gentlemen. I would not want to see you hurt by someone who is undeserving of you.”
Vivianna managed a smile. “I promise you, Mama, that I would not let anyone undeserving hurt me.”
Lady Greentree nodded. “Good,” she said.
Vivianna watched her make her weary way upstairs. Guilt seemed now to be her constant companion, but she knew it would not prevent her from finding her way out tonight. She felt a little nervous, of course she did, but she also felt alive. Intoxicated.
This was to be her one night, her only night.
And Oliver would be awaiting her.
The coach was waiting. No insignia, nothing to show who it belonged to. As she approached, the door opened, and Oliver reached out and drew her in. The driver’s whip cracked and the horses’ hooves clattered away over the stones.
Vivianna leaned back in the corner. It was dark, but she could see the shape of his face, the shine of his eyes. Her voice was breathless when she asked, “Where are we going?”
“I have arranged for somewhere special.”
“Oh.”
“Don’t worry, Vivianna. You will enjoy it. We will both enjoy it.”
Vivianna didn’t answer. Now that the time had come, she found she was very nervous indeed.
The gloom of the coach was claustrophobic, and as she huddled smaller into her corner, Vivianna knew she could not stay like this. By the time they reached their destination, she would be too anxious and frightened to come out. This was meant to be a night of celebration, of intense enjoyment.
She should begin as she meant to go on.
Vivianna closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Let
the seductress free, she thought. Pretend I am a courtesan like Aphrodite. What would she do in such a situation as this? She would not cower in the corner and hope for the best. She would take charge.
Vivianna shut her mind to doubts and let herself feel instead. And what she felt was Oliver’s presence, and what she wanted to do was touch him. Instinctively she reached out and rested her hands gently just above his knees, and before he could do more than catch his breath, she was sliding her fingers along his thighs, feeling the hard muscles shift and contract.
It felt good; he felt good.
So hard and strong, so different from her own body. Before she realized it, Vivianna found herself dropping to the floor of the coach, using his knees as support. “Vivianna,” he groaned. His body was frozen, rigid, but she could hear him breathing. Heavily.
“I just want to touch,” she whispered. She leaned forward and rubbed her face against his inner thigh. He was so warm and hard and the sensation of having him in her power was intoxicating. Vivianna smiled. In the dim light from the coach lamp, she could see before her clear evidence of his desire for her: the outline of his swollen member beneath the cloth of his trousers.
Vivianna did not allow herself to think. She stretched out her hand and stroked her fingers over him. Lightly. Curiously.
He made a sound in his throat, as if he weren’t sure whether to urge her on or tell her to halt. He hardly seemed to be breathing at all now. She brushed her fingertips over him again, more firmly this time, exploring the shape of him, her eyes closed, the better to imagine those dimensions. He quivered beneath her, and then his hand rested lightly upon her hair.
She wondered if it was really possible to seduce a rake. A dichotomy, surely? And yet Oliver Montegomery seemed more than happy to allow her to continue. She found the buttons that closed the flap of his trousers and began to slide them from their fastenings, one at a time.
“What is his name?” she whispered. “What do you call this part of your body?”
His laugh was husky and strained. “The Duke.”
“Why the Duke?”
“Because he is arrogant and demanding.”
“Oh.”
Vivianna was breathing quickly, and she realized with surprise that she had become intoxicated and aroused by what she was doing. The feel of him, the scent of him, the knowledge that he was excited had all served to urge her on to be bolder than she had ever been before.
Vivianna eased her fingers within and discovered that, like herself, Oliver wore no undergarments. The thick, hard length of him filled her hand. So warm, so alive, so big. It was nothing like the illustrations she had seen in that wretched pamphlet. For a moment she simply held him, caressing him, enjoying the velvet strength of him. And then she bent forward and pressed her mouth to him.
