Improper Seduction Read online

  And she woke to find she'd begun her courses.

  Could that have been the source of her strange ailment, not Thomas at all? She felt both relief and guilt. Although she had heard that certain men enjoyed conjugal rights during their wives' menses, Charring certainly did not.

  In fact, for the few months of their early marriage days, he'd refused even to be around her during her "tainted time of the month." They'd stayed in the London townhouse at the time and he had spent those five or six days at his club rather than endure her company.

  She wrinkled her nose in irritation. "Tainted time," indeed – his exact words. Why should something so universal to all women, so necessary to human existence, be unclean?

  There was, of course, no broaching her husband on such a delicate matter. He would be displeased that he was unable to share her bed for the next several days, but he would manage, she imagined. Didn't men have ... ways to relieve that kind of discomfort?

  She found herself humming merrily as she arose, despite the mild cramps in her loins.

  Chapter 4

  Baron Charring, Lord Oscar Rockham, arrived the next morning and the household went instantly into a flurry of bustle and panic. The Baron had arrived, and nothing must be out of place.

  At his preference, Chastity and the servants greeted him as he stepped down from his brougham. They were lined up like chess pieces in front of the grand steps that led to Charring Manor's palatial entry.

  Chastity rather thought Charring considered her and the staff very much like the soldiers he'd commanded during the Crimean War when he was a much younger man. Oh, yes, he relished ordering them all about. Well, one thing he could not control was the beginning and ending of her menses.

  She smiled again at the idea of her frustrated husband.

  As he approached her, Charring bowed abruptly, then appearing to reconsider, touched his dry lips to her cold cheek. After the Baron entered the manor, Chastity followed along with the senior upstairs servants. No one had spoken a word thus far.

  He handed his gloves to Samuel the butler and shrugged out of his greatcoat. "Be sure to have all the fires roaring, Samuel – in every room. I should not like to take a chill simply because I chose to grace the northern properties with my presence."

  "My lord." Samuel bowed and stepped from the room while Charring turned to his Countess.

  Chastity's smile felt frozen on her face as her husband reached for her hands. Now that only she and he remained in the high-vaulted entry, he deigned to show a modicum of affection. "I find myself weary from my travel, my lady. I shall rest and prepare myself for you. Please come to my chambers within two hours."

  The request for her presence in his private sanctuary was more a command than an invitation. Those damned soldiers, she thought, then sighed heavily. Should she inform him now or later that she was indisposed? Later, she decided.

  No reason to have his lordship in a dither any longer than necessary. And he was very much like a spoiled child when thwarted. She suspected he might even extend his visit to get his way.

  Her husband was not a cruel or demanding man, she decided, simply – unaware. Disinclined to think of others' needs, particularly his wife's. In the Baron's world women were a necessary inferiority. They were to be respected and protected, but certainly not indulged.

  #

  The stable master suspected Lord Rockham would want to inspect his latest acquisition of horse flesh as soon as he'd settled more pressing needs. Likely, bedding his wife was first on his list.

  Thomas thought well of Lady Rockham, he admired her spirit and courage, and beyond her obvious beauty, he observed something rare, but fragile about her. The thought of the Baron's clumsy hands on her made him scowl.

  Certainly it was time to visit the village and find a willing wench to ease his own needs rather than dwell on the gentry's goings on.

  The sun was nearly set when the Baron sent word for him to come to the manor house. Thomas made his way through the kitchen, bussed the Cook Mary Jones on the cheek, and slapped the kitchen maid on the arse. She giggled and danced away, holding a pot of soup for the stove.

  Mary glared at him. "Don't be messin' with me girls, Tom."

  Thomas placed a hand over his heart. "Just funning, Mrs. Jones. You know me heart beats only for you."

  He heard her laughing as he climbed the stairs and met the footman who led him to his lordship's library. Thomas schooled his face before he entered after a rap on the door and the command to enter.

  He had no great liking for the Baron, although he'd been considered an important officer in the Crimea and was affable enough to the servants and his other employees on the estate. No, Thomas' quarrel with Lord Rockham was the way he treated his horses. And he figured a man who'd treat his animals poorly harbored a cold, mean heart.

  He'd seen the man go into a deadly rage when one hapless stallion failed to clear a fence set too high. The former stable master had warned the Baron that the horse had a sprained fetlock and shouldn't be forced to jump for another week.

  When the horse balked and Lord Rockham had tumbled to the ground, he'd risen slowly, brushed himself off, and calmly said. "Put him out of his misery."

  The stallion was one of the most beautiful horses Thomas had ever seen, sleek and tall, with a proud carriage and wonderful high step. He'd been bought for stud for the Baron's mares, not for racing or jumping.

  Thomas would never forget the careless destruction. He wondered how such a man would treat other flesh that he owned. He wondered how he treated the Baroness.

  Now, as his lordship entered the stables, Thomas saw that Charring was in a black mood. He knew instinctively that his wife had displeased him.

  Thomas couldn't say how he knew, but as with the women in his life, he had an instinct for such things. Sexual frustration rolled off his lord like black angry clouds.

  "Where's the stallion?" Lord Rockham asked abruptly, slapping the side of the horse he was inspecting.

  "This way, m'lord."

  "He's a fine one. He'll sire good horse flesh." The sight of the stud seemed to put the Baron in a better mood.

  "Indeed, m'lord."

  "Humph," muttered Lord Rockham. "Would that women were so biddable."

  Ah, then it was Lady Rockham giving him grief. Good, Thomas thought. He admired his lady's spirit."

  "Bitches are constantly bleeding."

  What?

  "Ought to go into heat like the mares. Keep the whole situation uncomplicated."

  Thomas felt the blood boil up in the veins at his neck, felt his muscles contract with the urge to lash out. The man spoke of his wife as if she were a mare to be mounted?

  "They're dirty like that," the Baron continued, clearly forgetting that he spoke to the stable master. But then who would he speak to of such intimate matters?

  "Dirty, m'lord?" Thomas ventured.

  Charring wrinkled his nose in distaste. "Blood, can't bear the smell of it, the slippery feel of it." He stopped speaking abruptly, stared at Thomas with a thunderous frown, cleared his throat. "I'll be leaving in the morning, Thomas, but I'll return in a few days."

  Thomas nodded. "Certainly, m'lord."

  "She should be finished with the damn mess by then."

  Chapter 5

  Thomas estimated he had three days in which to seduce Lady Rockham.

  It would not be an easy task. Although heat smoldered beneath that fair skin, Chastity was, after all, a true lady. She would not betray her husband easily.

  He told himself that she wanted this – this seduction he planned. She was lonely. He could tell that by the frequent pensive look on her face. She was frustrated. He knew by the heady sexual fragrance emanating from her body whenever he passed. He doubted another male could tell, though, thank Christ for that, or she'd have all sorts of unsavory fellows caterwauling about her.

  The afternoon that the Baron left for London with another great flourish and much pageantry, Thomas heard Lady Rockham's maid spea
k to Cook about preparing a picnic basket for the Baroness, who felt in the need of quiet meditation in the gardens behind the manor. She wasn't to be disturbed. The maid murmured something about "womanly distress."

  Although the day was chilly, the footman George carried blankets and the slight luncheon, along with a book, to the designated area, where Lady Rockham summarily dismissed him. After thirty minutes of waiting behind the shrubbery, Thomas made his appearance.

  The garden terrace was the perfect place to begin his seduction.

  She sensed him before she saw him.

  Thomas could tell by the way her nostrils flared as she lay on her back, one arm thrown over her eyes to protect them from the clouded sun. She moistened her lips, but lay motionless. He dropped down beside her on the thick bed of blankets, one of which covered her from the waist down.

  He played with the idea of letting his hand wander beneath that blanket, to touch her, caress her. Christ Jesus, she was a beautiful woman!

  "You're staring at me, Thomas," she muttered without opening her eyes.

  "How did you know it was I?"

  "The mingled odor of horses and leather." She smiled lazily. "You've quite a distinctive smell."

  "Hmmm." He'd expected the kind of flustering and blushes she'd previously shown, but this afternoon his lady was composed and calm. Perhaps she felt protected by her feminine condition. Ha, he'd take care of that.

  "And, of course, no one else would be so bold as to approach me like this," she added.

  "Approach you like this? What do you mean?"

  Now she laughed, throatily and richly, her lips pulled back to show her white teeth. One middle tooth was slightly crooked, a small imperfection that seemed endearing. "You've been quite brash around me lately. With your language – your words, your demeanor."

  "Have I? I meant no disrespect, m'lady."

  "No? I quite think you enjoy watching me blush," she countered.

  "Ah, there's that." He couldn't deny his forwardness.

  "I was surprised his lordship left so quickly after arriving," he ventured. He wanted to probe, to confirm what had happened between the Baroness and her husband to cause his immediate return to London.

  He was quite sure he already knew the answer to that, though.

  She sat up quickly and turned those brilliant eyes on him. "I – I believe I have – displeased my lord," she murmured, although there was no regret in her eyes.

  "So graceful a lady displease her husband? I can't imagine how. "

  Her eyes slid away from his. "Oh, through no fault of my own."

  "I see."

  "Do you?" She peered upward into his eyes and he wondered what she saw there – a callow youth or a grown man? The notion she might not take him seriously annoyed him.

  "Yes, there are ... biological changes over which one has no control," he explained logically.

  She placed one hand on his knee, and he felt himself grow hard, his cock stretching in his trousers like a lazy cat. He saw her eyes drop to his lap, heard the sharp intake of her breath.

  "I see." She threw his words back at him.

  "Was the Baron's displeasure due to something –like this?" He inclined his head downward where her fingers tightened on his knee – so very close, but not nearly close enough, to his bulging dick.

  "Yes," she breathed on a sigh. "Something – perhaps – like that."

  A long silence continued between them while her fingers played with the fabric of his trousers, while his eyes took in the fragile loveliness of her features, and while her rapid breathing lifted the bodice of her dress.

  "Could not a gentleman find a way to, uh, work his way around such uncontrollable and unforeseeable obstacles?" Thomas asked.

  She glanced sharply up at him, her hand stilling on his knee. She pulled away, bent her knees, and clasped them through the thickness of her dress and petticoats. She shivered a bit from the cold and Thomas felt the warmth leave his leg where she'd seemed to heat him up from the inside out.

  When she spoke, her voice held a bitter edge. "A gentleman could not work his way around such an impediment," she answered firmly.

  "He could not? Or he would not?" Thomas asked innocently.

  She shrugged impatiently and rose, pulling her cloak around her as she walked to the edge of the fountain. "What does it matter?"

  He followed her. He couldn't not follow her. He sat beside her on the stone edge of the fountain while they both watched the water spout from a naked angel's mouth. Thomas wondered uncharitably if the angel's rather undersized penis offended his lady, or she was rather used to it.

  Lady Rockham suddenly turned hard eyes, brilliant as gemstones, on him. "How old are you, Thomas?"

  She'd surprised him and he'd thought himself far too old for that element. "Old enough," he vacillated.

  She arched a delicate eyebrow and waited for a proper answer.

  He lifted one shoulder and looked off toward the shrubbery. "I've passed the age of majority."

  He saw by the expression on her face that this time he'd surprised her. "What?" He laughed robustly. "You'd thought me an infant!"

  The statement roused another smile from her.

  "I ask again," he pressed, "a gentleman could not, or would not?"

  Her silence spoke volumes.

  "Perhaps, then," he finally responded after a long pause, "What you want is not a gentleman at all."

  "Whom should I want, if not a gentleman?"

  "Someone who will give you what you truly desire."

  Chapter 6

  What you desire.

  Thomas made the words sound so innocent and yet so sensual. What did Chastity desire? The place between her legs throbbed with swelling, discomfort, and heat. She wanted something – someone – to relieve that, she thought. Something other than a warm cloth applied to her mound.

  "You've begun your courses and your husband is unhappy that he cannot lie with you." Thomas said the words flatly, with no inflection, as if the fact made no difference at all to him. As if, she thought, he were talking of the horses during mating season.

  "You speak as if I'm one of your mares – in heat," she said hotly.

  "There are practical considerations, of course," he continued in the same professorial voice as though she had not spoken so frankly.

  She thought she hated this tone of Thomas.

  "When a mare is in heat, she is ready for the stallion. When a woman has her courses, she cannot get pregnant. There is no biological reason for ... sexual congress."

  She gasped audibly and felt heat rise from her bosom to her cheeks.

  So clinical, so logical, she thought, feeling herself on the verge of tears. The emotion was simply because of her monthlies, she told herself. That's why she wanted to scream and cry like a child withheld a pretty toy.

  Otherwise, she'd never weep in front of a stable master. Never allow Thomas to speak to her so candidly. Never, never find herself wanting to fling herself into him arms for comfort.

  He stood and held out his hand for hers, spoke with the same calm solemnity. "Let me show you."

  She followed him grudgingly, allowed him to lead her back to the blanket, force her to lie down. He set her cloak aside, but pulled another thick cover from the basket and laid it over her body.

  Then he sat beside her, reached toward her cheek and traced the tear she hadn't known had fallen. Her nose felt nippy as well as her ears. She became aware of the distant sounds of birds in the trees, and far away the shout of a man, a laborer in the fields, she supposed.

  But inside this bubble of quiet and secrecy there were only she and Thomas.

  He removed his jacket and flung it beside his previously discarded hat. He wore only his coarse cotton shirt and trousers.

  Lifting the bottom of the blanket, he carefully removed her boots, set them aside, and gently massaged her cold toes inside the thin stockings. She closed her eyes and let the tender stimulation warm her – warm more than her feet, she realized.
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  When he'd sufficiently ministered to her feet, he covered them with the blanket and tucked in the edges. "Better?"

  She nodded, her eyes still closed. She allowed herself to feel him rather than see him, focused on the sense of touch rather than sight or sound.

  She felt the rustle and dip of the grass beneath the blanket as he slowly lowered his large body until it covered hers. Her eyes flew open to stare into the eerie light blue of his own. "Wh – what are you doing?"

  "Shh," he murmured, placing a long forefinger over her lips. "Don't speak, just relax."

  She tensed, held her body so stiff she could almost feel her bones turn to stone.

  "Relax," he urged again. "I won't hurt you."

  "I can't."

  "Yes, you can. Take a deep breath and blow it out slowly." She did. "Ay, and then another."

  Chastity felt her body gradually relax beneath his weight, almost felt drowsy, and as the sun peeked in and out from behind the clouds, felt herself warm, her limbs go boneless. The weight of him on her hips did not feel oppressive as it did with Oscar, but comforting – secure. She felt the cramping of her loins ease a bit.

  "That's the way," he encouraged her in much the same way he'd gentled one of the horses that had gone anxious. "Am I too heavy for you?"

  She shook her head, afraid to speak. His breath feathered over her face with a clean, masculine scent, warm and inviting.

  They lay for long moments. She had no idea of the passing of time, but knew that her body felt wonderful, mindlessly disembodied and heavenly drifting. The padded ground beneath her provided sufficient cushion. The faint sun kissed her cheeks.

  How long could he hold himself off her, she wondered? She opened her eyes to find him examining her face. "Thirty," he whispered at her ear, "I'll be thirty at my next birthday."

  A full decade set them apart! A lifetime. Chastity nearly laughed aloud, but she didn't want to interrupt this delightful mood.