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She groaned, sensing defeat, but made a last attempt to defend herself. “The body has impulses, my lord, not easily controlled.”
“Try harder.”
With a sigh, she lay back, but he slapped the inside of her thigh with his hand, causing her to sit back up.
“What was that for?” she demanded.
“For protesting. Now, you will submit and, more importantly, you will spend.”
Impossible, she replied silently, but she lay back again. When he nuzzled her with his nose, it took all of her not to recoil. How could he do such a thing? It was wet down there, with a distinctive smell. And she had no idea how it looked.
He fondled her nub with his tongue. It was slick, and the sensation differed from his fingers. Moaning, she dug her nails into her palm. What if she did not spend? Would she be punished? Would she need to pretend to spend?
“Oh!” she exclaimed when his tongue found a particularly sensitive spot.
He worked the area with surprising effect. His tongue was proving rather pleasurable. She concentrated on the sensations, pushing away thoughts of how it was happening. His touch became more forceful. Her resistance began to fade as he stoked her lust. She writhed upon the rigid bench but did not attempt to escape. Her legs, bent and exposed, felt awkward. She knew not what to do with them as the pressure in her cunnie built.
“My God,” she breathed when he sucked on her clitoris and tugged it gently with his teeth.
She was going to spend. She should never have doubted him. He quickened his pace in response to her ascent. Tension, jarring and magnificent, mounted and spread from her cunnie into her abdomen and down through her legs. She almost feared the impending climax, wanting and resisting what was to come. He kept a firm grip on her hips and held in her place when at last the unraveling of her desire crashed through her body. Her legs flayed of their own accord, bumping against him, as the most glorious shivers overcame her.
Her cry sent the birds scattering from the tree tops. She felt as if she had been catapulted into the skies. When she sank back down from the heavens, her limbs a little weakened by the spasms, she found Lord Rockwell upon his feet, staring down at her. The area about his mouth and even his chin glistened from her moisture.
“Well done, Miss Herwood,” he said.
She flushed. “I think the praise ought to be placed with your lordship.”
He returned her smile and passed her his handkerchief. She applied it to his face first, admiring the contours of his lips as she wiped around it. Despite the wickedness of what he had just done, she now found his efforts endearing. Just as she had finished cleansing his face, she realized he was staring at her with that unnamed intensity. She stared back, locked in his gaze. For several beats, the world consisted of only him and the beating of her heart.
As if startled, he put an end to the moment. “My turn.”
He took the handkerchief from her and gently wiped the moisture that had dripped down her derriere. He then offered her a hand up. Only then did she realize how relieved she was not to be lying against the marble. Just as her skirts fell back down, they heard the sound of footsteps.
“Lady Isabella has arisen, my lord,” a maid told him.
“I shall speak with her now,” he replied, clearly expecting the information.
Deana willed herself not to be jealous.
He turned back to her. “Shall I see you to the library? Madame Follet has an extensive collection of books and magazines.”
“Are they as stimulating as her art?”
“I leave that to your own determination,” he replied with a grin.
“I should like to enjoy the garden more.”
“Very well. I will seek you in an hour’s time.”
She watched as he took his leave, wondering what he had to confer with Lady Isabella about. It was none of her business, of course, and she had no intention of inquiring. The problem for her was that her attraction to and affection for Lord Rockwell were growing. It was a most troubling development.
* * * * *
“Ohhhh,” Isabella groaned as she held her head in her hands. She turned to the maid and snapped, “Close that curtain a bit. It is far too bright in here.”
Halsten handed Isabella a cup of black coffee and pulled a chair alongside her bed where she lay propped against a mountain of pillows. “You should refrain from drinking, my dear.”
She glared at him, but as he remained unruffled, she turned her anger upon the maid. “Stop scurrying about! Your motions have a dizzying effect upon me!”
