Читать книгу A Pregnant Courtesan For The Rake - Diane Gaston, Diane Gaston - Страница 12
ОглавлениеThey crossed the Place Louis XV, which had been called the Place de la Concorde after the Revolution, and walked to Rue Saint-Honoré to where Oliver’s hotel, Le Meurice, was located. A doorman opened the huge wrought-iron door for them and the attendant in the hall greeted Oliver by name. Other guests passed them without comment.
In London, a gentleman would have had to sneak a woman up to his room or risk being asked to leave the hotel. In Paris, no one took any notice.
Oliver led Cecilia up the three flights of stairs to his room. It was a comfortable space with a sitting area and a separate bedroom and dressing room. His valet stayed in a room next door and would come only if Oliver summoned him.
Oliver opened the door and stepped aside for Cecilia to enter. She walked to the centre of the room and stood as if uncertain she wanted to be there.
He closed the door and removed his hat and gloves. ‘Are you wishing I had walked you home instead?’
She turned to him, looking surprised.
He softened his voice. ‘It is not too late, Cecilia. I will take you home if that is what you desire.’
She pulled off her own gloves and removed her bonnet. ‘I do not desire you to take me home.’
He stepped forward to take her shawl. His fingers skimmed her determinedly squared shoulders.
‘Then tell me why you suddenly seem as taut as a bowstring.’
‘Do I?’ She attempted a smile, which disappeared as quickly. ‘I was remembering something...unpleasant.’
He put his arm around her and guided her to the sofa. ‘Come sit and do not think of unpleasant things. I will pour us some champagne.’
He was filled with desire for her, which had surged when she proposed coming to his hotel. He’d been on fire ever since. But she was different from other women he’d pursued. She was not a conquest; he liked her too much.
She was mysterious and sad, but strong, as well. He wanted to know why. He wanted to know everything, so he could make her smile again.
She gazed around while he opened and poured the champagne. ‘This is a lovely room.’
He recognised, after this whole day, that she relied on typical society conversation when her guard was up. He knew many women who knew of no other kind of conversation, no matter what.
How was he to put her at ease?
He handed her the glass of champagne. ‘It looks remarkably like a room in the Clarendon Hotel on Bond Street, but then, Le Meurice is known to cater to British visitors.’
‘It is quite comfortable.’
Oliver felt as if he was losing her.
He sat next to her on the sofa. ‘Cecilia, nothing will happen here that you do not want. I have enjoyed this day with you. I will not spoil it now.’
She smiled wanly. ‘You must think me very absurd. To offer myself so blatantly, then to act like the silliest ninnyhammer.’
He met her gaze. ‘Explain it to me.’
She glanced away and her breathing accelerated. ‘I—I do not frequent the hotel rooms of gentlemen by habit.’
He was glad of that, even though he could not say he did not occasionally entertain women in hotel rooms.
She finished her glass of champagne, and he refilled it.
Then he put his hand on top of hers. ‘You have promised nothing by coming here, except to spend time with me.’
She gazed at him sceptically.
He smiled. ‘Nothing.’
Her eyes softened. ‘May I truly believe you?’
He looked her in the eye again. ‘I do not lie. I abhor lies.’
She held his gaze for a long time.
He took the champagne glass from her hand and set both glasses on the table next to the sofa. ‘So...how do we begin?’
Her lashes lowered and then opened again. She looked directly into his eyes. ‘With a kiss?’
He smiled. ‘I believe I can comply.’
He gently lifted her chin with his fingers and moved slowly, coming closer and closer until his lips touched hers.
Her lips were soft and warm and they trembled under his. With all his resolve, he held himself back when every fibre of his being wished to pull her body against his and deepen the kiss.
It was she who moved. She wrapped her arms around his neck and came closer. He leaned back and she slid on top of him. Her lips had become hungrier, and he was only too glad to appease her appetite. She opened herself to him, straddling him and pressing against his groin. He was already hard, wanting all of her. He pressed her to him and parted his lips to allow her tongue access. She tasted of champagne, but more intoxicating. His senses reeled.
He could take her here, he realised. Merely unbutton his trousers and free himself to enter her, but he wanted so much more than a speedy release.
He lifted her off him and stood, sweeping her into his arms. ‘The bedchamber?’ he asked.
She nodded.
He carried her into the bedchamber and lay her on the bed. Making short work of removing his coat and waistcoat, he leaned down for another kiss, which she willingly accepted.
She watched him as he next pulled at his boot, trying to remove it. The boot stubbornly stuck to his foot and he cursed it beneath his breath.
She laughed, a deep, genuine laugh that made his insides quake in joy for it.
She reached for him. ‘Let me pull them off for you.’
He climbed on the bed, and she took hold of his boot, twisting and wiggling it before finally pulling. The boot came free.
She grinned at the victory.
She pulled the other boot off with as little difficulty.
He came to his knees. ‘Now I shall help you.’
He turned her around and undid the laces of her gown and carefully lifted it over her head, folding it before placing it on the floor. Next he untied her corset and helped her slip out of it. She turned to face him and reached for his shirt, pulling it over his head. He jumped off the bed and removed his trousers and drawers.
She remained seated on the bed, dressed only in her shift, pulling pins from her hair. It tumbled to her shoulders as she watched him, naked before her.
He was accustomed to the appreciative gazes of the women he bedded, but Cecilia set his senses afire.
As she could obviously tell.
He smiled again and twirled his finger at her.
She looked puzzled for a moment, then her brow cleared and she smiled back as she drew her shift over her head. He knew she would be lovely. All creamy skin, narrow waist, full breasts.
‘You are a beautiful woman, Cecilia,’ he said with complete honesty.
She blushed an appealing pink.
He approached her slowly, climbing back on the bed and lying next to her, drawing her into another kiss, stroking her fine skin, fingering the rich waves of her hair. She touched him, too, placing her palm on his chest, sliding her hand lower to his groin. To his surprise and delight, she wrapped her fingers around his shaft, though it made his resolve to go slow a challenge.
She slithered up to place her lips against his ear. ‘How long do you intend to wait?’
* * *
Cecilia knew she was behaving wantonly, but she did not care. The wine had loosened her inhibitions and this man had made her yearn for lovemaking. In the early days of Duncan’s seduction, he had shown her these erotic delights. She remembered aching for him so acutely she’d have done anything for him. Now she knew it had been his way of making certain she would marry him.
Those early days of lovemaking awakened her to the pleasures of the flesh. She had no doubt she would gladly succumb to such temptations over and over if only she could be certain that the tide would not turn.
Coupling could be transcendental or it could be...brutal.
Since Duncan she’d never taken the risk. Until now.
One night was not too much to ask, was it? One night to re-experience corporeal delights?
‘How long?’ she whispered again.
He turned his head to face her. ‘I should ask first if you have the means to prevent a child?’
She’d not had to worry over that with Duncan. ‘I know what to do.’
He smiled teasingly. ‘Then have your way with me, Cecilia.’
He rolled onto his back.
She immediately climbed on top of him, but, unlike his words suggested, he was not passive. He grasped her by the waist and guided himself inside her. She gasped at the sensation.
Together they moved, forming a rhythm that built her need. He was a skilled lover, she could tell. He knew just how to move her to intensify her sensations. It seemed to her that he also knew just how long he could draw this out to put her into a frenzy.
A pleasurable frenzy.
She felt the change in him, the moment he lost all thought and was in the throes of lust. His thrusts quickened, pushing her to the brink of frustration until her release came in like a lightning storm. She cried out with the acute pleasure just as his release came. His cry joined hers. He held her tight until the wave of pleasure washed away and her body turned the consistency of soft butter.
She collapsed beside him. ‘Well, that was rather nice.’
He laughed softly, but the laugh resonated within her. ‘I feel damned with faint praise.’
‘And assent with civil leer?’ She knew that poem. ‘Epistle to Dr Arbuthnot’ by Alexander Pope.
He countered. ‘And without sneering, teach the rest to sneer.’
She smiled. He knew the poem as well.
‘Willing to wound, and yet afraid to strike,’ she added.
He finished it. ‘Just hint at a fault and hesitate dislike.’
She returned his smile. ‘What nonsense, to recite that poem after making love.’
He feigned an innocent look. ‘You started it.’
She loved this bantering. Would it not be lovely to have a man who always found some lightness and humour wherever he went?
He reached over to her necklace and fingered the single pearl. ‘I do not have faint praise, Cecilia. Mine is rather loud, I fear.’
She grew warm all over again. ‘I am glad I accompanied you to your hotel.’
His smile grew slowly. ‘As am I.’
He turned on his side and pulled her into a kiss that ignited her senses all over again.
This time he rose over her, entering her again and moving slowly as if savouring the experience. As if trying to make the moment as pleasurable as possible for her.
She was glad she’d allowed herself this liberty, this lapse in the tight control she exerted over herself. She’d lived in the winter of her emotions for too long. How lovely it was to let the sun shine in.
As he moved, her need built slowly, a glorious need because it held the promise of fulfilment at the end. All her senses came alive, awakened after a long hibernation. She was delighted she could still experience this pleasure.
And she was delighted with this lovely man who bestowed it like a gift.
His thrusts accelerated and her thoughts flew out of her head, replaced by sensation. Need. Growing. Nearing its promised end.
Her release shattered inside her, sparkling like the sunlight on the rose windows of Notre Dame. Then the release came again and again. And again when he spilled his seed inside her.
He collapsed on top of her, and she relished his weight upon her for the moment he remained there. Before he made it hard for her to breathe, he rolled off her, pulling her into another kiss and another.
He finally faced her, twirling a lock of her hair in his fingers. ‘Ah, Cecilia. Words fail me.’
She merely snuggled against him, relishing the scent of him and the warmth of his skin against hers.
‘I wonder,’ he began.
She could feel his voice through her body as well as hear him with her ears.
‘I wonder,’ he said again. ‘Perhaps I might extend my visit...’
A frisson of fear raced up her spine. No. That was not what she wanted. One day, he’d said. One night. More time together and what could happen?
One night did not seem like enough to her either, though.
She did not answer him, instead closed her eyes and let herself drift into sleep. Another pleasure—sleeping naked next to the man who had just joined with her.
She could still pretend for a few more hours, even if he wished to extend that time into days. She was determined not to let go of this wonderful illusion until she absolutely must.
* * *
Oliver, too, drifted to sleep with the thought that he had no real reason to start his journey back to England so soon. What would a few more days hurt? Frederick and Jacob could manage things until he returned. One more week would not matter.
He slept deeply, content to hold Cecilia in his arms.
* * *
When he woke it was to a loud knocking on the door.
‘Sir. Sir.’ It was his valet knocking. ‘The coach is due in an hour. You must rise now.’
Oliver shook himself awake and sat straight up.
He turned to the space in the bed beside him.
Cecilia was gone. Her clothes were gone.
‘Sir!’ His valet knocked again.
‘One moment,’ he answered, climbing out of bed.
He searched to see if she’d left him a note, but there was nothing in the bedchamber. He entered the sitting room and searched there. To no avail.
There was nothing to indicate she’d ever been with him.
He had no way to find her. No surname. No address.
Perhaps he could find her on the banks of the Seine, giving coins to the children. He must dress quickly. He ran back to the bedchamber and grabbed his drawers, managing to don them as he started towards the door to let his valet into the room.
A glance towards the window depressed his spirits. The sun was high in the sky. He’d slept through most of the morning. She would not be on the banks of the Seine giving coins to street urchins. She would be long gone.
‘Sir! Sir!’ his valet cried.
‘Coming!’ He walked to the door and opened it, and knew he would never see Cecilia again.
