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Bloody hell! Never before had a woman had such an effect on him. From the moment he’d spotted her, his breeches had become too tight. And, by the time she’d evicted him, he had a cockstand large enough to inhibit movement.
Rock hard, and in sore need of release.
Cristelle lived a mere ten minutes’ walk away from Summerton Hall, but such easy prey, though capable of relieving his needs, would leave him wanting more.
Would leave him wanting her.
The delectable creature he’d just met.
He’d expected Mrs. Black to be a shriveled matriarch, not a vibrant young woman with soft brown hair that framed her face to perfection, and wide, expressive hazel eyes. He closed his eyes and relived the image of her as he’d been ushered into the music room. A ripe body, with lush curves barely concealed beneath a plain white muslin gown. His gaze had been drawn to the lovely round arse that had been on display before him while she’d rummaged through a pile of papers on the piano stool.
Women were at their best bent forward, displaying their luscious behinds. And Mrs. Black had been no exception. The very act placed her rear in full view, leaving little to the imagination. It would have been no trouble at all to step forward, toss up her skirts and take her from behind.
What might that smart mouth of hers done then? Would the breathy, hoarse tone she’d uttered, indicating the first bloom of desire, turn into screams of pleasure?
A couple walked past, and he recognized Lord and Lady Strathdean. He tipped his hat, praying that the lady didn’t lower her gaze toward the bulge in his breeches. After they passed, he turned to face the building before him, and took a few deep breaths to dispel his ardor. The image of Lady Strathdean’s face—which Peterton had always said resembled a sow’s rear end—helped in softening his rock-hard member and cooling his ardor.
Shortly after, piano music filtered through the air, coming from the direction of Summerton Hall.
A Bach partita.
It was a piece Adrian had striven to play as a child, before Papa had forbidden him to touch the pianoforte.
The pianist’s command of the music was such that Adrian might have believed he was listening to the great Carl Czerny himself. The crisp, precise notes marked the melodies to perfection, but were tempered with something else—a soul and a passion, which many players of baroque music lacked.
The pianist would not win any acclaim for her interpretation, but the articulation of the notes touched his heart.
Mrs. Black was, indeed, an extraordinary woman. He found himself reluctantly admiring her fortitude, and her independence—as well as her musicianship. Rather than place herself as a governess destined to teach spoiled aristocratic children, she had chosen independence, conducting her lessons on her own terms, shouldering the risk that came with earning one’s own income rather than being employed by others.
There was no doubt she possessed a talent for music. Though the lesson had been a means to effect an introduction and set him on the path to seducing her, he found himself wanting to indulge in a few lessons, if only to satisfy his passion for music. To think—in the hands of a skilled tutor, he might be able to play that Bach piece himself!
And, if she could be persuaded to warm his bed once or twice, then that would be a pleasant secondary benefit.
But if he were to plan a second campaign, he’d have to find another means of placing himself in front of her. Though he relished the prospect of beating down the doors, sweeping her into his arms, and taking her savagely until she screamed in ecstasy, the victory would be all the sweeter if she invited him in. Seduction was a complex art, and true accomplishment was measured by the degree of willingness—or even, desperation—on the part of the women who parted their thighs for him. Such a victory could only be declared when she begged him to rut her.
And Mrs. Black, despite her resolve, was a woman ready to beg him to rut her. She just didn’t know it yet.
