Improper Seduction

  Improper Seduction

  An Erotic Romance

  by

  Temple Rivers

  Another Novella by Temple Rivers

  Willing Seduction

  Copyright © 2013 Temple Rivers

  All Rights Reserved

  McKay Lewis Publishers

  Chapter 1

  England, 1890

  Lady Chastity Lockham, Baroness Charring, found herself in a most peculiar – and, yes, most uncomfortable – position.

  And Thomas, the stable master, seemed to have no intention of making the situation less awkward. Or, at the least, less appalling. In fact, she was quite sure he relished throwing oil on the already smoldering fire.

  Chastity's husband, Baron Charring, Lord Oscar Lockham, hadn't returned to his estate in Dorset for nearly six months – almost half a year! They'd hardly been married one year. And, although Chastity grudgingly admitted that his absence had not troubled her over much, when all was said and done, they'd spent very little time together.

  Now her husband was returning, and she weighed the idea of informing him that Thomas, the stable master, simply had to be let go. Or to ignore the situation that'd been brewing these last few weeks.

  His lordship, the Baron, would not like to see such a fine stable master as Thomas leave his employ without good reason, for the man possessed an uncanny and unique ability to handle ... stallions and mares and ... Well, all horse flesh seemed to quiver under his broad hands and sure fingers.

  Chastity kept her eyes focused on those hands and those fingers right now as Thomas groomed her mare. Oh, my. Why did the man make her heart flutter irrationally and her pulse throb erratically at her neck?

  The Baron would certainly demand to know why Chastity wanted Thomas dismissed. And what reply would she give?

  She could hardly confess to that. To the uncontrollable flutter of a heart. The quickening of a breath at the mere scent of him – leather and horses mingled with something indefinable. She could not tell her absentee husband the truth, now could she?

  And Thomas, dratted man, only made the situation more difficult.

  "Do ye ken what I do when a mare refuses to let a stallion near her, m'lady?" The casual question came from Thomas, out of the blue, with no preamble or hint of impropriety. The query could've been innocuous.

  Oh, no, Chastity realized, the question was not casual. It was outrageous. Preposterous. And shamefully exciting. She glared at his broad back even as her hands clenched at her waist and her stays seemed insufferably constrictive.

  "W – what's that?" she asked, watching the muscles ripple beneath Thomas' cotton shirt, rolled up at the sleeve and open nearly to the waist. The very sight of his body made her grow damp with unfamiliar desires.

  Her husband, she remembered suddenly, was unflatteringly ... doughy. White flesh over flaccid muscles. Hairless legs and chest. She knew these things from touch, not sight, because his lordship insisted their few intimate moments be conducted in the dark with as much clothing between them as possible. Brief, perfunctory, unsatisfactory.

  Chastity wondered if the mare felt the same when the stallion mounted her.

  "When the mare refuses to let the stallion ... mount her – " Thomas glanced over his shoulder, eyes aimed at her boots.

  "Wh – what do you do?" she whispered, her throat dry. She moistened her lips.

  Before answering her, Thomas turned from brushing the chestnut mare and observed Chastity with those light blue, unearthly eyes. He'd never touched her, not once, even to assist her at – at mounting her horse, but his eyes – God, his eyes caressed her in a thousand outrageously subtle ways.

  Those pale blue eyes were laughing at her now. "Pardon, m'lady? I dinna hear what you asked."

  He'd heard her all right. Wretched man! She firmed her lips and narrowed her eyes. Thomas was a stable master, far below her in station! She wouldn't fluster before him. "How – exactly – do you get the mare to cooperate?" She spoke each word distinctly in a hard, clipped voice, very much the lady of the manor.

  Thomas smiled, slowly , sensually. "I – well, I simply ... stimulate her. Rub her. Caress her. As long as necessary." He wouldn't look away from her even though the words he spoke were so indecent, the double entendre so apparent. "In the right spot, of course." He grinned widely. "So she's well ready for the stallion's, uh, male parts."

  Chastity felt the color rise in her cheeks. They must be flaming by now. Even though she'd asked the question, how dare he speak to her with such veiled intimacy! Without a word she turned and marched from the stable, her back a rigid bone of indignation, her lips quavering, and her thighs trembling.

  However she could accomplish it, Thomas had to be dismissed.

  #

  Thomas narrowed his eyes and watched his lady twitch her very fine arse as she stomped toward the back of Charring Manor. Entering the kitchen way, was she? Likely so the upstairs servants couldn't catch a glimpse of that porcelain skin all flushed and sweaty.

  What a fine figure of a woman she was! So prim and proper in her high-necked dresses and perky little hats she favored. He told himself he shouldn't have fun at her expense, but something about the buttoned up tight Baroness Charring poked at his sense of humor. And his bollocks, too, he admitted cheerfully. He suspected beneath the charade of manners and gentility lurked the soul of a lusty barmaid.

  And, yes, he'd had his fill of barmaids – ladies, too, if the truth were told. It suited him to keep his own false veneer of low birth and education to himself, for he truly enjoyed working with the horses and the other animals Lord Lockham kept about the isolated pastures.

  It wouldn't do for the Baron to learn that Thomas' dearly and recently departed sire was a duke. Although Thomas had had the temerity to be born on the wrong side of the blanket nearly thirty years ago, he'd been properly educated and trained to be the gentleman he certainly was not.

  He'd wager that Lady Chastity Lockham was a good eight or nine years older than he, but he'd always liked his women seasoned. Like fine wine, they became more appealing with age. More interesting, too. In and out of bed. A man grew tired of substituting his cock for conversation all the time.

  Thomas had been stable master less than a fortnight, but he suspected he could have this particular lady moaning with pleasure beneath him by week's end.

  He supposed he ought to be worried about losing his position, but right now an image his lady's very rounded pale ass gripped tightly in his large brown hands set his cock twitching.

  Plenty of time afterward for talking.

  Chapter 2

  Sitting at her writing desk in her bedchamber, Chastity twirled the quill pen around in her fingers, all the while unaware that faint ink stains pooled at the thumb and forefinger of her writing hand. Tomorrow! Charring arrived tomorrow and she hadn't yet formulated a ruse for getting Thomas off the property and out of her hair.

  Hair ... the word conjured shoulder-length chestnut hair that continually escaped from the queue where he tied it back with a leather strap. It was thick, full, and would surely feel like silk beneath her fingers.

  She glanced at the recent letter from her husband. No amorous words or pretty phrases, but clearly he intended to spend the sennight doing "his duty by her," as he phrased it. She knew what that meant, understood that his primary goal was to get an heir on her as quickly as possible. The wonder was that he'd waited so long.

  The man was insane! She was eighteen months shy of forty, and although her figure was firm and unmarred, her courses healthy and regular, she didn't countenance the idea of being pregnant at her age. She sighed heavily. Thank heavens, it'd take no more than a few moments of Charring's furious pumping each night to accomplish the deed. She could endure that m
uch, surely.

  She was no expert at the mating of humans, having been an old maid – and the requisite virgin – when Charring offered for her. She'd lain long on the shelf, particularly for a woman of impeccable breeding, but Papa had been indulgent and absent-minded, and managed to refuse the many offers she'd had.

  Unfortunately, Papa had died and the income had dwindled. His crusty second wife held no such tenderness for her willful stepdaughter.

  No, Chastity knew little about marriage or mating, but she understood that the few times she'd lain with her husband were not enough to conceive an heir. Charring would be much more rigorous during this visit. Approaching fifty-five, he desperately needed an heir or two to secure his estates and properties.

  Why hadn't he married a younger woman, she grumbled silently? But she knew the answer to that conundrum. Like the mare and the stallion, Chastity Virginia Grey was of impeccable lineage, a thoroughbred of the first order. And Charring wanted to merge those ancestral lines with his vast fortune.

  Chastity glanced up as Marianne, her maid, entered the chamber.

  "Pardon ma'am." The thin girl with saucy red curls curtsied.

  "What is it, Marianne?"

  The girl glanced guiltily over her shoulder. "Mr. Thomas says you need to come look at Ginger. Sumpin' about her hoof – or forelock, or – "

  Chastity nearly snarled at the young girl. "I saw Thomas this morning and he said nothing about my mare." She flung her pen on the desk, noticed the ink stains on her fingertips, and brushed nervously at the wrinkles of her gown.

  "B – but he was very insistent, m'lady."

  "Oh, all right," Chastity answered gracelessly. "I'll be right there. Thomas can wait a few minutes while I – while I – oh, bother, the dress is ruined anyway."

  So it was that when she reached the stable, she still wore the wrinkled gown, still had the spilled ink on her fingers, and still bore a smudge on her chin that a quick swipe of her handkerchief had not removed.

  And Thomas was not in the stable.

  Cursed man! She imagined he liked her hurrying to and fro at his inappropriate demands. "Thomas?" She walked further into the stable, far toward the end of the spacious building. The Baron spared no expense when it came to housing his horses, and the outbuildings were large and complex as the stalls wound around in an intricate fashion.

  The odor of fresh hay and the clean air of the countryside assailed her as she breathed in deeply. One thing she did not regret about marrying Charring was the beautiful setting, the lovely old mansion, and the rolling hills and abundant foliage. One could easily get lost on the property, and many times she'd walked to the brook, sat beneath a gnarled tree, and simply enjoyed the beauty of this part of England.

  "Thomas?" she called again, less patiently. "Where are you? What's wrong with Ginger?"

  Silence.

  #

  He waited for her in the last stall, and nearly twenty minutes after he'd sent Marianne to fetch her, Thomas heard her footfalls on the packed dirt of the stable floor. Heard the annoyance in her voice and the underlying concern. Whatever Chastity's coolness, she loved her mare. He shouldn't worry her about Ginger's health.

  "Sorry, m'lady, I dinna hear you," he answered, suddenly stepping in front of her. She halted abruptly, but not before her rounded breasts brushed against his shirt front. He chewed on a piece of hay and smiled languidly at her. She was a lovely sight for his sore eyes.

  "What's this about Ginger?" Her voice rose sharply. "She was perfectly fine this morning."

  He took her elbow and led her into the empty stall, realizing it was the first time he'd ever touched her except in his imagination. He'd given Jimmy, the youngest of the stable boys the job of assisting her when she rode Ginger. "Actually, m'lady, I didn't mention it this morning because I was – distracted."

  Chastity circled the stall slowly, took in the fresh hay and clean blankets spread upon it. "Where is the mare?"

  "Not here," he murmured, still holding her elbow.

  "There's nothing wrong with Ginger, is there?" she demanded, pulling away from him, an angry pucker deepening between her fine brown brows. "What are you up to, Thomas? Why have you – have you lured me here under false pretenses?"

  For one indecisive moment, Thomas wondered if he'd erred in judgment. He'd always been good at sensing a woman's interest in him – high or low born. It was an instinct he had, to be able to see or feel or smell the underlying attraction. Lady Rockham had been sending him subtle signals for over a week.

  He inhaled the frustrated need for sex that emanated from her as strong as the wild lilacs that grew beside the stables. Felt the steam of it like water on a hot stone. Saw the uncertain darkening of her eyes, the hesitant nibble of her bottom lip with small white teeth.

  He was not mistaken. Lady Rockham wanted to lie with him.

  The only real question was whether he was willing to compromise his very enjoyable position at Charring Manor to fuck the lady of the house.

  Chapter 3

  "False pretenses," Chastity repeated indignantly.

  Thomas nearly laughed aloud at her amazement, but quickly smothered the smile with his hand. "Well, m'lady, the mare was ill earlier. A bout of colic or some such, I'd say."

  Something about Lady Rockham made Thomas abandon his false accent, his low-bred drawl. Something about her brought out the gentleman in him. Something about her brought out the devil, too, he mused, and clearly that overrode every other proper feeling when she was this near to him.

  She tilted her chin in the air a fraction, then looked calmly at where his hand cupped her left elbow. She arched one elegant eyebrow. The gesture was more scathing than a proper verbal set down.

  The gentleman in him rose to the occasion. He dropped his hand.

  "If Ginger is not here, and she is no longer sick, why did you send for me?" Her eyes, blue as a summer's day or a calm, clear lake, held his longer than necessary. She seemed to be asking something else of him. The scent of a woman in heat flooded his senses.

  He smiled gently, letting her play out the scene as she would. "I seem unable to help myself," he confessed. "I wanted – I wanted to – "

  "To what?" She snapped impatiently.

  Ah, the heat was very near the surface, and if he wasn't mistaken, Lady Rockham very near the edge.

  "To do this," he murmured. He leaned forward, bent down so that his sigh gusted at her ear and fluttered the fine loose hairs at her temple.

  He didn't touch her – not with his hands – but he let his breath say it all as his lips moved slowly from her ear to her temple, her forehead to the dainty upturned tip of her nose. Her eyes widened and her breath hitched, but she didn't move away, didn't slap him as she should've done.

  His mouth stopped a fraction of an inch over hers. He felt the sharp intake of breath and the tremble of her bottom lip. She quivered like a leaf in the wind though she hadn't yet felt his hands upon her flesh.

  Christ, he swore he could smell her sex, wet and aroused between her thighs. The urge to throw her down on the clean straw and fuck her mindlessly almost overtook him. He pulled himself back from the precipice, spoke carefully now, mindful of his words, for one misstep there would send her running.

  "What do you want, Lady Rockham?"

  Her eyes were closed, but at his words they flashed open. She blinked furiously several times as if awakening from a particularly slumberous dream. "Wh – what?"

  Lady Rockham was a purebred, not a lowly maid to be tumbled carelessly in the barn. He reined in his hard-won self control. Her wide blue eyes, wild as cornflowers, stared at him while she shook and his breath eased into her mouth.

  "What can I give you?" he rephrased the question. "For I should like very much to give you something splendid."

  He allowed his forefinger to trace the delicate dent in her chin before he stepped back.

  Her bosom heaved and a fine sheen of moisture appeared on her upper lip.

  "I must be about my busine
ss, now," he said shortly, and with the control of a monk, executed a short bow, and left the stable.

  #

  Chastity nearly groaned aloud. What had just happened? How had mere words and veiled innuendo made her heart race and her blood pound through her veins? He'd lured her here – for something nefarious, she was sure, although he'd barely touched her. In fact, had she imagined the entire scene?

  Then he'd changed his mind. She'd seen the moment in his eyes, the instant he reversed his decision to seduce her.

  Why?

  Her breasts felt swollen, the nipples prickling against her bodice, aching for release. Her drawers were damp. After nearly thirty-nine years she now understood what happily married women had slyly hinted at during women's private conversations. Her body was preparing itself for him – for Thomas – for his entry, and in such a way as it had never done for her husband.

  She felt herself flush hotly with embarrassment. Thomas couldn't possibly know what she'd felt during those few moments in the stable. On the other hand, he looked like a man well used to handling, not only horse flesh, but women.

  In fact, she imagined he'd had many women in his short life. He couldn't be more than twenty-four or five. How could he be so young and so devilishly old?

  Good grief, she was old enough to be his mother!

  Not quite, that wicked voice inside her chanted. Not quite at all, my lady.

  Chastity spent the night tossing and turning in her bed, her fevered breasts tender, the delicate flesh between her legs swollen and aching. She'd been unable to release herself from the pitched state Thomas' breath – his touch – had brought to her. Finally, she'd taken a dampened cloth, folded it into a square and squeezed it between her legs, firmly pressing the cool cloth at the most sensitive spot.

  The coldness offered her some respite from the discomfort, and she finally slept, only to fall into vivid dreams of calloused hands roaming her naked skin, rough caresses over her breasts and between her legs. She woke to her hand clutching the mound between her legs as a throbbing pulse vibrated beneath her palm like a wild heartbeat.