Читать книгу Season Of Secrets - Кэрол Мортимер, Кэрол Мортимер - Страница 14

Chapter Seven

“Would you care to join me in a glass of port?” Christian indicated the decanter on the table beside him as he remained seated in an armchair beside the unlit fireplace, looking across the room to where Sylvie stood hesitantly beside the door Smith had recently closed behind her, and looking ethereally beautiful in a gown of deep gold. “Or perhaps you would prefer a glass of wine?”

Sylvie was more than a little disconcerted to find herself in a room that was so obviously Christian Ambrose’s private domain, serving as both a library and his study, if the book-lined walls and the cluttered desk in front of the window were any indication.

She was even more disturbed by Christian, his appearance impeccable and stylish this evening, in a dark-green superfine worn over a paler-green waistcoat and snowy-white linen, buff pantaloons outlining the muscled strength of his legs above shiny black Hessians. His dark curls looked slightly damp, as if he had recently bathed, the squareness of his jaw showing no evidence of this morning’s stubble.

A pity his manners did not match that gentlemanly appearance. But no doubt his neglecting to stand up when she had entered the room was an indication of their arrangement.

“Sylvie?” he prompted softly at her continued silence.

Her spine stiffened. “Thank you, but no, I do not require any refreshment. I would much prefer that we just retire to your bedchamber and get this business over and done with.”

Christian’s eyes widened before narrowing. “You earlier refused conversation, and now you are also refusing to share a glass of wine with me?”

She nodded. “Because I do not believe either of those things to be a requirement of our arrangement.”

Christian frowned. “You would prefer, perhaps, that I dispense with the niceties altogether and simply toss your skirts up now and take you where you stand?”

She gasped. “There is no need for crudeness!”

Christian sighed as he placed his glass of port down on the table beside him. “I freely admit I do not quite know what to make of the woman you are now, Sylvie...”

He had been angry with Sylvie four years ago for not waiting for him as he had asked her to do, but he’d had every intention of her enjoying their lovemaking tonight. Of perhaps realizing all she had given up in her youthful eagerness to become Gerald Moorland’s countess...But he found her continued coolness, despite having agreed to become his mistress, completely baffling.

“There is nothing to know,” she dismissed flatly. “We have an arrangement, I am simply making it clear that I am...willing to begin that arrangement.”

Christian looked at her through narrowed lids for several moments before giving a rueful shake of his head. “I am used to receiving a little more enthusiasm from my lovers.”

“No doubt. But I should perhaps tell you—warn you—that there have only been two men in my life, Christian.” Her cheeks were flushed. “You. And my husband. I am not—I ask that you not expect me to have the physical expertise of your previous mistresses.”

Christian drew his breath in sharply at her hesitant admission. “I do not believe I found you in the least wanting four years ago, Sylvie.” The opposite, in fact—Sylvie’s enthusiasm for enjoying all things physical had been its own aphrodisiac to his battle-numbed senses. “And it pleases me to know you have taken no other lovers since your husband died,” he added.

She blinked. “It does?”

“Yes.” Christian nodded. “Whatever thoughts you may have of this arrangement, Sylvie, I assure you it is not my intention to ever hurt you. On the contrary, it is my hope that we both enjoy our times together.”

Sylvie’s fear was that she might enjoy Christian’s lovemaking too much, that she might fall in love with him all over again.

If she had ever stopped loving him...

She might only have been eighteen when the two of them were last together, but her love for Christian had been that of a woman, deep and true. Much as she had liked and respected Gerald, she had never felt a romantic love for him. Or for any other man. Mere hours after meeting Christian again, being in his company, she found herself here in his home, having agreed to become his mistress.

Oh, she had told herself earlier today that she acted out of a need to protect Christianna, to ensure that Christian never learned of the existence of his daughter, with all the accompanying complications that knowledge was sure to create.

But that excuse did not explain the excitement that had thrummed through Sylvie’s veins earlier this evening—that still thrummed through her veins!—as she had dressed to meet her lover, deliberately choosing a gold gown that she knew flattered her fair coloring, its low neckline revealing the full swell of her breasts. Breasts which Christian had caressed and suckled the evening before...

And which Sylvie knew she had longed, ached, for him to caress again ever since.

“Will you join me here, Sylvie?” Christian held his hand out to her invitingly.

Her cheeks felt flushed, her heart beating wildly in her chest as she took a step toward him, and then another, and another, until she placed her gloved hand in his as she now stood beside his chair. “I—Should we not go upstairs to your bedchamber...?” Her heart skipped a beat as Christian instead pulled her in to stand between his thighs, holding her gaze with his as he slowly began to peel her lace glove down the length of her arm.

He smiled slightly as he glanced up at her. “There is no need for us to rush, Sylvie.” He slowly, leisurely, pulled the lace from each of her fingers before pulling the glove off completely and allowing it to drift softly to the carpeted floor as he raised her hand to his lips, his gaze holding hers captive as his tongue became a silky-soft caress against her fingertips before he sucked the length of one of those fingers into the heat of his mouth.

Sylvie’s breath caught in her throat as she watched that steady and erotic in and out pull on the dampness of her finger, her breasts full and aching beneath her gown, her body aching.

“I have waited too long for this to be in any hurry,” Christian murmured softly as he reached back and unfastened the buttons at the back of her gown before allowing it to fall down the slender length of her arms to the carpeted floor, revealing that she wore only a thin chemise beneath, golden curls visible between her thighs, swollen nipples tipping the fullness of her breasts. Christian slipped the ribbon strap of her chemise down her arms and allowed that to fall too.

“Christian...!”

“Let me look, love,” he groaned as he caught both her hands in one of his as she would have covered those bared breasts. “You are bigger here than I remember, Sylvie.” He watched as his fingertips skimmed her rounded breasts. “And your nipples are darker.” He ran the soft pad of his thumb across her before lowering his head to suck first one, and then the other, into the moistness of his mouth, laving those tight buds with his tongue, gently biting with his teeth as he continued to caress, causing her nipples to swell and elongate in the heat of his mouth.

He ran his hand along the silky length of Sylvie’s thigh, feeling the throb of her hidden nubbin against his palm as he cupped those silky gold curls to stroke her before entering her with first one finger and then two. He heard the catch in Sylvie’s ragged breathing. She cried out in pleasure as she exploded in climax before collapsing against him weakly.

Christian rested his head against the fullness of Sylvie’s breasts, feeling completely at peace as he enjoyed the feel of her fingers lightly caressing his hair. She continued to tremble and cling to him in the aftershocks of that climax.

A peace and completion he had not felt since last making love to Sylvie four years ago...