Page 4 of Only a Mistress Will Do

Dear God. She couldn’t refuse him anything. Lord John owned her for the night. Whatever he wanted to do to her, be it lewd touch or soft caress, she had to submit. No matter she wanted to scream, or cry, or pummel his chest. Curse him for being a depraved wretch who reveled in her misfortunes.

That wasn’t fair. She returned her gaze to his chest. Despite her misery, she couldn’t blame him for her misfortunes or her decision to come here. He was a man bent on the usual pleasures of men, and she needed the patronage of such men to survive. If he wanted her to be pleased, then she would convince him of her pleasure. A leaden weight settled over her, grounding her. She tipped back her head and smiled at him, the practiced false smile that showed her teeth. “Then I am certain we shall both be pleased, my lord.”

A broad grin spread across his swarthy face. “Amorina has taught you well, little one. You will go far here, I believe.” He untied his cloak and tossed it carelessly onto a chair.

Violet gawked at his body—perfectly proportioned shoulders, waist, and hips, well-muscled legs—and her bravado slipped a notch. He was gorgeous, with a face like a cherub bent on mischief and a body made for sin. Somehow a devilishly handsome, virile man made the situation worse. She had assumed whoever ruined her would be old, ugly, evil. Like the deed he performed.

He touched her cheek.

She started then forced herself to remain still this time. Despite the heat of the blazing logs, uncontrollable shivers wracked her body. Twisting the fabric of her skirt helped.

Slowly, Lord John leaned down, bringing the scent of sandalwood to swirl around her head. He scattered kisses along the side of her neck. “Don’t worry, ma petite. I don’t bite, unless instructed.”

His caresses sent chills down her arms. When she turned her head and rubbed her arms, he laughed and pulled her against him. Don’t fight. Just submit. She made herself relax, lean on his taut body. As if given permission, his mouth descended, tickling the sensitive flesh of neck, making her whole body glow as though a fire had been lit within. Her heartbeat pounded a staccato rhythm. Did he hear that? Did he feel her getting warmer? Pressed together as they were, he must.

He slid his mouth down her throat, and cupped her derriere through her thin lavender striped petticoat.

Her bottom tensed. More heat rushed to her face and she burrowed her head into his chest, grateful he couldn’t see her.

A low humming vibrated the skin of her neck, and his full-throated growl ensued. He gripped her buttocks, surprising a gasp out of her. With strong fingers, he kneaded them before he traveled up her backside, across her back to her waist. Lord John raised his head, his eyes bright with desire. He moved her away from him and continued up to stroke her breasts.

Smiling all the while, Violet closed her eyes and gritted her teeth. So that was why Madame Vestry had given strict instructions to remove her stays beforehand.

He circled her nipples with his thumbs, making them tingle and ache. She bit her lip to stifle a moan. He couldn’t be right, could he? She shouldn’t enjoy being ruined.

But he had awakened sensations Violet couldn’t deny. Her nipples swelled as he stroked them, tightening to rock-hard points. When he gave them a playful pinch, the pain shot through her and lodged an unfamiliar throbbing at the apex of her thighs. She couldn’t stop her moan that time.

A sensual smile touched his lips. “We should get you out of these clothes now, my dear. It’s so much better skin to skin.” In two swift motions, he had her garments in a pool on the floor.

Violet stared at her naked body, the pink of a body blush spreading downward like a wave. She clasped one arm across her breasts, the other across her body to shield her sex.

A chuckle brought her head up to stare into appreciative blue eyes. “I must say, Amorina has got quite the little gem in you, my dear.” The renewed hunger in those bright eyes leapt at her. He grasped the hand clamped to her breasts, drew it over her head, and then led the other one up to join it, so her breasts jutted toward him in invitation.

Shame clogged her throat, making it hard to breathe.

He raked her nakedness with his hot gaze, and sighed deeply. “If I were free, I might have to spirit you away from here. Keep you all to myself.” Some of the hunger died and his voice softened as he released her. “Why don’t you climb up onto the bed, now? I’ll just take care of my clothing and we’ll continue.”

Violet scurried toward the tall, four-poster mahogany bed, covers and sheets turned down as per Madame’s instructions. Two steps up and she collapsed onto the mattress, her skin pebbling from the cold sheets. If she could make it through the ordeal this once, the next time would not be so bad perhaps. She steeled herself and turned toward him.

Divested of all attire save his breeches, Lord John stood near the fireplace. The flickering glow gave his skin a golden sheen, the muscles of his chest rippling as he worked the buttons at his waist. Light danced along the blue velvet encasing his thighs, until with a twitch of his fingers the fabric came loose. He bent swiftly, peeled the tight garment down his legs. When he stood again, all of him gleamed in the firelight.

Violet’s breath rushed out with a hiss. She’d never seen a naked man before, save in statuary. The shaft jutting toward her in the flesh was much larger. Her stomach fluttered. She dragged her gaze away. Better not to look.

He strode toward the bed, his smug grin fading into a puckered frown.

She scooted away from him, barely registering the new chill of the untouched sheets on the far side of the bed.

“You look pale, my dear. Are you not well?” The concern in his voice sounded genuine.

Still, all she could do was shake her head.

He cocked his head then shrugged, climbed the steps and sat in the middle of the bed. His hip brushed hers, scalding her skin and setting her to trembling again.

“Just cold, perhaps?” He ran a finger along her arm and the shivers increased of their own accord.

Like a mouse fascinated by a snake, Violet couldn’t take her eyes off of him.

“I believe I can take away the chill.” His voice deepened, softened like spun silk. He leaned closer and clasped her hands, their fingers intertwining as he drew them up over her head once more. Levering himself over her, he straddled her thighs, using them as a cushion, his long, hard shaft lying atop her mass of dark brown curls.