The Unsuitable Secretary (A Ladies Unlaced Novel) Page 15

  “Oh, you’re hopeless!”

  And then he smiled. “Hopeless, am I? All the more reason I need a strong woman. Someone tall and stately, and really quite luscious. Someone fiercely intelligent and practical. Someone who takes my breath away when I kiss her.”

  “You were breathing just fine a minute ago.”

  “That wasn’t much of a kiss, Harriet. I’m a little disappointed in you. We’ll have to practice.” His brown eyes were warm. Oh God, he was beautiful. If she wasn’t careful, she’d leave her heart behind when she left on January 6.

  She brushed a loose curl of hair back from his temple. “Exactly what I’ve been saying.”

  “You’re always right.”

  Harriet had no chance to reply before Thomas’s lips covered hers. All her strength and intelligence and practicality flew out the window. She clung to him like a limpet, but he was sturdy enough to hold her up against the door and press himself right back. She felt his erection through the silk of his robe.

  His tongue was soft and warm and swept about with surety. He’d probably kissed a hundred girls pretending to be the rake everyone thought he was.

  But the other—the other would be hers and hers alone, for at least the little while until their contract ended. Harriet decided there would be no more dillydallying or talk of scruples tonight.

  She danced him backward to the rumpled bed. Allowed him to slip her nightgown from her shoulders. Kicked off her slippers while Thomas held her more or less upright, still kissing her with ragged passion. She hoped she’d find them in the morning. His hands were wild in her hair. She was almost naked—

  Oh, good God. The livid scar across her belly twitched. This was awful! He would see and be repulsed and—

  Without warning Thomas picked her up as if she weighed nothing and dropped her on the bed with a bounce. She snatched a sheet, arranging it right up to her chin as he tore off his robe and pajamas in a frenzy.

  How had she thought she could do this? His—his arousal was a fearsome sight. She’d only seen statues in museums and that horrid book, but Thomas looked different. Delicious. His manhood jutted up from a nest of curling hair, much like hers, only a little darker. The rest of him was all angles and planes. He was incredibly fit and lean, and her own body couldn’t compare.

  He fell on the bed and tore the sheet away. Kissed her eyelids and throat. Suckled and cradled her breast with a warm hand. Swept down her body to her own nest with the other, not pausing over the scarred tissue across her belly that was the bane of her existence.

  Perhaps he didn’t notice. His eyes, she observed—because really, this was her chance and she wanted to see and do everything—were shut after all, and he was navigating by touch and taste, lost in the moment. She should do the same, but then she’d miss seeing the sweet tousle of his hair, the flutter of his lashes, the secret smile between kisses. His hand settled on her mound and she felt worshipped.

  Harriet squeezed her eyes shut to keep back her sudden tears. Who was seducing who here? Whom? She so prided herself on her grasp of grammar, but it was gone, like her nightgown.

  Chapter 27

  Her skin was like silk. No, velvet. Thomas was a tactile person, his hands always busy with some nonsense or other, but he felt they were being useful for the very first time in his life, every fingertip tingling. Harriet was warm and smelled delicious. It had been a hell of a night, but here they were, right where they belonged.

  He was afraid to look at her face. He didn’t want to see any fear or, God forbid, disapproval. Disgust. He knew the basics. Now all he had to do was put his extensive reading and occasional voyeurism into practice.

  Thomas had been told women loved to be touched. Touching unwound the tight knots society laced young women up with. All those don’ts and noes and wrongs could be unraveled with strokes and kisses, and Thomas was eager to test the theory. He skimmed over Harriet’s body with fingers and lips and listened to her little purrs and gasps. She was too shy to touch him back, but that was all right. His time would come. For now it was enough to be skin to skin.

  His hand cupped her center. The hair there was soft and lush, hiding the key to her pleasure and his. He’d seen enough illustrations to know what to search for, and parted her folds with his forefinger. She was definitely responsive—wet and shivering just a little.

  Thomas would warm her up.

  He moved down the bed, finally opening his eyes. Her skin was the color of honey, except for the jagged evidence of the operation her father had mentioned. The doctor had not been careful enough stitching her up, and, for a moment, Thomas was furious. How she must have suffered, poor girl. And then to have her father drug her on top of it all—

  He was going to kiss it, and then kiss her down there. Women he knew seemed to like it and were grateful when a man knew his way around the little bundle of nerves. Funny how something so small could be so important. Thomas brushed his lips across her belly, being careful not to exert too much pressure. She became very, very still.

  But she quivered as he went lower, concentrating on the ripe pinkness of her. He was reminded of the color of a split pomegranate, or perhaps the flesh of a peach circling the stone, and finally understood why botanical prints were so sought after. Imagine having something so innocent on your wall, when it made you think of the woman you loved. He smiled at the subversiveness, and then dipped his tongue into her crease.

  She nearly broke his jaw as she rocketed off the bed.

  “What are you doing?” she cried.

  It was perfectly obvious, and he did it again. This time her shriek was more or less expected.

  “Like in the book,” he mumbled, before he took her into his mouth and sucked.

  Thomas had never tasted anything quite like Harriet, sweet and sharp. He had no trouble getting into the spirit of the thing, and before he knew it, Harriet was rolling about and sobbing. He was quite sure she wasn’t in pain, though he couldn’t say the same—her fingernails were scoring his scalp. The noises she made were extremely gratifying.

  He felt her pulse hard against his tongue, like an electric current that ebbed and flowed. He had managed to make her come! His elation knew no bounds, but his eardrums were having a bit of difficulty processing her screams. She was clutching at the bedcovers frantically, much to the gratitude of his head, and Thomas knew that this was his shining hour.

  Best to get it over with, as Harriet would say, while she was so wet and ready. He rose over her, feeling somewhat smug. Her eyes were dark, her pupils huge, her hair a tangle, and her cheeks—ah, he’d never seen her blush quite that shade before. Gorgeous. The scent and sight of her quickened his blood, and he parted her thighs with a sure hand. He was as hard as granite and didn’t want to hurt her, but he couldn’t wait another minute.

  The tip of his cock slid into her heat and he gritted his teeth. How ignominious to want to spill and spill and spill right this very second before he even got inside. All the years of self-abuse and fantasy did not hold a candle to what he was experiencing now.

  And he would experience it again and again the next few nights. Maybe longer, if he could talk her into it. They could put a codicil in the contract. They might lie like this for the next thirty years, or perhaps Harriet would choose to be on top. Thomas imagined her writhing above him, her hair streaked gold in the lamplight. That thought almost unmanned him as he inched his way between her legs.

  She was still tight, but that in itself was agonizingly exquisite. Thomas wondered if one could die of pleasure. The feeling of friction and wet warmth made him feel as if his head would explode.

  Well, as long as it wasn’t the other end of him. He owed Harriet a decent first experience, something she could remember, smile over when they were both gray and perhaps less limber. He was feeling mighty limber now, a Titan of strength and seduction.

  What had he been so worried about? All those years of anxiety. One couldn’t do this sort of thing wrong, could one? It was all very straightforw
ard, as long as one took the time to prime the well, so to speak. Actions as old as time, at once mysterious and clear as glass. In, in, in. Oh, God.

  Harriet surrounded him, her walls still quaking. Never in his life had he felt so happy. So content. He could lie here like this practically forever. Except he instinctively knew more was required, and not from the blessed movements of Harriet’s hips alone.

  He gazed down at her. Her beautiful brown eyes were wide open now, as if looking straight inside him. Thomas hoped she liked what she saw—his heart was hers. Did she know? Could she feel what he felt, the dazzling joy? He hoped he hadn’t hurt her, for she was not smiling. But she didn’t look sad, just serious.

  It was a serious moment, after all, this deflowering. It was a pact between them. A commitment. They would belong to each other forever after this.

  They belonged to each other now.

  Her lips parted, as if she was about to say something. Thomas hushed her with a kiss, tasting her sweetness and something salty. Tears? Had she cried and he hadn’t noticed? He was a cur.

  His kiss would cure whatever ailed her. It was that way in fairy tales, wasn’t it? Sleeping Beauty. Snow White. He moved above her, keeping their mouths together, syncing his tongue with his cock until Harriet groaned. A very nice groan. She met his thrusts effortlessly, and Thomas’s rhythm improved until he knew they were both climbing the same vast height.

  And then he couldn’t glide gently anymore. Couldn’t control the clashing of their bodies. He broke the kiss and buried his face in her neck, nipping her rose-scented skin. Harriet cried out and the waves swamped them both. The crackling heat between them ignited, and Thomas was utterly lost and didn’t ever want to be found.

  He could feel someone’s heart beat frantically. His, hers, possibly both. He kissed his way up her jaw and brushed more tears from her cheeks.

  “Did I hurt you?” he asked, his voice breaking.

  She shook her head, her lashes tipped with diamonds. “It was—it was—I don’t know how to describe it. But not pain.”

  “For me, too. Thank you, Harriet.”

  Her arms slid from around his shoulders and he missed them instantly. “Was it what you thought it would be?”

  “More. Much more. I adore you, Harriet.”

  “Don’t be silly. You needn’t say such things. It was just . . .” Her lips pursed.

  “It was not just anything. Not a business arrangement. Never that. I know we should have waited—you’ve had your share of shocks tonight. I tried to, but you wouldn’t let me. I want you, Harry. And,” he growled as her expression told him what she thought of his words, “do not roll your eyes or imagine I do not mean everything I’m saying. I’m known for my excessive good taste, and you are as fine as any woman made. You are perfect for me.”

  “What about my scar?”

  “What about it?”

  “It’s—it’s disgusting.”

  Thomas’s temper flared. “Who says? Did your damned father tell you that?”

  “I have a mirror, Thomas,” she said quietly.

  Thomas knew what he said next was important. He was supposed to be a wizard with words; everyone said so. He could charm the birds out of trees.

  If Harriet was a bird, her feathers were indeed ruffled at the moment. A bit spiky, really.

  He sighed and spoke honestly. “I cannot help but wish that Paul had operated on you. He’s a dab hand with needle and thread—he’s stitched me up a time or two after some silly stunt, and you’d never know it, would you? Never left a trace. But your scar, as unbeautiful as it might be to you, is proof that you’re alive, and I couldn’t be more grateful. I only hate that it’s caused you pain and uncertainty. None of us is without some imperfection. I’m told I snore.”

  Thomas wasn’t prepared for the punch to his shoulder. “Be serious!”

  “I am! Let’s sleep in, and you might find out. You were going to see to the Mount Street property in the morning, were you not? We can go in the afternoon.”

  Harriet’s brows knit. “The afternoon? I don’t usually work in the afternoon. And it’s Sunday, too.”

  Thomas hoped she didn’t feel the need to get on her knees and ask for forgiveness for their so-called sin. What had happened between them could not be wrong.

  “I believe you’re going to find that you’ve made a full recovery at last. You were up to all the shopping today, remember?”

  Thomas didn’t have the appetite to tell her what Benson had been doing to her all these months. He wondered if the old man would have the courage to confess.

  “Let me arrange everything. Trust me.” It was time Harriet had someone to take care of her for a change, and Thomas was finally just the man to do it.

  Chapter 28

  They were so close, the damp heat between them radiating. She should feel awkward or embarrassed, but truthfully this was all rather lovely. He was still inside her, and her body was reacting in a way she had no control over.

  Thomas, for all his innocence, had been marvelously wicked. He was, Harriet thought, a natural at this pleasure business. She could die now and have no regrets.

  But what would happen when this idyll was over in a few days? Suddenly her seduction plan didn’t seem so wise. She missed this—him—already.

  “What’s this? More tears? I’ll slit my own throat if I’ve hurt you, Harry. I tried to be careful, but quite frankly I couldn’t think straight for a considerable stretch of time.”

  Harriet hadn’t been able to think at all. His lips and hands had worked their magic—she had been completely undone by the time he’d fitted himself inside her. There hadn’t been much discomfort, just welcome pressure, then astounding pleasure.

  She understood now why people would throw their principles away for such thrilling sensation. It was a wonder that anything at all was accomplished in the world, when it would be so simple for everyone to stay home in bed with their partner and fornicate.

  Thomas had been foolish to be so worried about his performance. Of course, Harriet had no experience to go by, but couldn’t imagine a more skilled or generous lover, and was on the verge of telling him so.

  No. He might decide he’d fulfilled their bargain. She planned on several more days of this. Let him think he could improve.

  She withstood the gentle kisses and whispering and stroking in the lamplight as they lay in each other’s arms. They were both exhausted, and sleep was just minutes away. She had shared her bed with one of the boys when they’d been frightened or ill, but never a man of Thomas’s size. She felt protected.

  He had spoken the truth. He did snore a little, and she snuggled against him, relaxing to his rhythmic breathing. It was almost dawn. In a little while Minnie would enter with breakfast and hot water, and how shocked she would be to discover her master in his secretary’s bed.

  Harriet gave him a little shake.

  “Mmf?”

  “Thomas,” she said, making her tone as stern as possible. “You must get up and sleep in your own room.”

  “Don’t want to.” His words tickled at her ear. He pulled her closer.

  Sweet God, he was hard again, and knew it, too. He rubbed up against her, a dreamy smile on his face.

  “Thomas!” she hissed.

  “Shh. You’ll wake Hitchborn and there will be hell to pay. He must be cranky after being up half the night. Crankier than usual.”

  “There will be hell to pay if you do not leave this bed! Minnie—” Her objections were overridden by Thomas’s kiss. This time there was no delay of disrobing—they were already naked, and Thomas seemed quite sure of what he was doing and where he was going. Her tumbled her on top of him—on top of him!—and slipped inside her with ease.

  This could not be right, twice in such a short space of time, and with her perched on top of him to boot. Three times, if she counted that extraordinary thing he’d done with his tongue. She tried to cover herself but Thomas would not permit it, cupping her breasts appreciatively, thumb
ing her peaking nipples, which quite made her lose her concentration.

  Her spine loosened; she felt utterly melted. She was hot, wet, and almost acrobatically flexible. Harriet made best use of this new body, allowing Thomas to move her about until she surprised him and took control. He seemed to have no objection, judging from the expression on his face, and she rocked and rode to the bright, sharp edge of unraveling.

  Thomas flipped her beneath him, taking back the reins. He kissed her wherever he could reach, and Harriet shivered. This was simply heaven; too good, too much. How would she live without it?

  Well, she thought before the roaring of blood in her ears overtook her, she’d spent twenty-eight years a virgin. She would manage. But now, just now, she would squeeze every bit of pleasure out of Thomas and this extraordinary night.

  They moved together, their bodies recognizing and understanding the steps to this primal dance. Books and drawings had proved to be unnecessary. Harriet’s heart was full, her breaths short. In her crisis, Thomas’s words blurred and she could say nothing meaningful in return. Once again they brought each other unsurpassable bliss, something to always remember.

  He kissed her nose, which was curiously numb. “There,” he said in triumph. “Now I’ll go, only because we don’t want to shock the servants. So prim and proper, my Harriet.”

  She didn’t watch as he gathered up his clothes and turned off the light. The resounding click of the door was reassuring.

  She needed to think.

  She punched her innocent pillow with viciousness. In another life, she would be happy, filled with languor and eminent satisfaction after spending the night with her lover. True, a few people had interrupted along the way—doctors and butlers and fathers—but in the end, it had been just Thomas and his devastating kisses. Harriet was truly a woman now, and she wondered if she looked any different.

  Silly of her, but she turned on the light again. If a stranger looked at her, would they be able to tell? Did she wear a knowing smile, a fateful flush?