HE WAS Aweak man. Before Prudence, Leo had believed himself to have nerves of iron. He was merciless in his decisions, never looked back, never regretted an action taken. And while he’d struggled with the idea of not seeing Prudence at all tonight, he’d determined on the walk over that he’d not go to bed with her.It was better for both of them to stop before certain lines were crossed.
Her involvement with his mother made it impossible for them to have a physical relationship. His mother was caustic, hard to get along with, and yet, here was Prudence, slicing through his mother’s thick exterior like a hot knife through butter. The American widow would get too close, too fast, and his mother would tell her everything.
And that would place them in jeopardy. He didn’t care about it for himself, not at all. But he would not risk his mother’s life—her fortune—on what was nothing more than a natural expression of bodily needs.
But Prudence was painfully, ethereally beautiful, like the women of a Millais painting, and as soon as she’d opened the door, he could tell she’d dressed for him. She was expecting a seduction. Except, as he uncorked the wine bottle, and she challenged him at every turn, he wasn’t sure who was seducing whom.
Talking was certain to be an antidote for him, it always had in the past. But tonight it served only to draw him in more. When she told him the specifics of her life—one of servitude, not unlike his own mother, really—his rage had gotten the better of him. Leo had meant it when he said that he’d hate her husband, this Gregory, who hadn’t deserved the pedestal she placed him on. Who’d left her desiring. Who’d left her feeling wanting. That somehow, she wasn’t beautiful or fascinating, that she wasn’t the exact fucking object of every fantasy he’d ever entertained. Perhaps he hadn’t known the face to put on those imaginary women, but once he’d met Prudence, the fantasy had come to life. And he wasn’t prepared for that. Didn’t know how to fight it.
He wound a finger around the honey-colored tendril she’d curled for him. He kissed her neck below her ear. Her breathing was his measure of her excitement. She hadn’t the words totell him how she felt, and he wouldn’t pressure her to be more explicit—not yet. And he could hold both ideas in one moment—that this was a terrible idea and he placed his entire world at riskandthe only thing he wanted in this life was to hear what Prudence desired from his mouth, his hands, his cock.
She pulled his hand that had cradled her cheek to her mouth, kissing his palm. The wetness of her mouth, the promise of her tongue, made the building tension in his groin grow taut. He hadn’t come prepared for lovemaking, but here he was, and while conflicted, it was a curse he blessed.
He turned and took her mouth. In return, she guided his hands down to the front of the silk bodice. He thought she meant to turn his attention to her breasts, only to discover she was showing him the hook and eye front closure of her extraordinary gown. And then he cursed his stupidity that she was wearing lingerie for him. This was no day dress nor elaborate evening gown. He groaned.
How dare she make this easy for him? To guide him into wine-soaked pleasure? He deftly unhooked the widely spaced closures, peeling the silk layer from her shoulders. She wasn’t wearing a corset at all. She was nude, wearing only her silk stockings with ornate forest-green clocking design snaking up the side of her lovely calves. She looked like a frontispiece for an erotic novel.
“Prudence,” he said through gritted teeth, taking her in. “I do not deserve such preparations.” And he meant it. She was so beautiful, curved and muscled in all the right places. Slender but not brittle, tall but perfectly proportioned. He could not have imagined a woman better.
“I do what I want.” Prudence looked at him with a ferocity that surprised him and aroused him all at once. “And what I want is you. Tonight.”
He leaned her back over the arm of the sofa, her back arching, her breasts on display. “At your service,” he said, taking one breast into his palm and the other his mouth. She let out a moan of pleasure, and he growled. He hadn’t meant to, it was a primal sound, a sound that he didn’t know he could make. Time shifted in ways he couldn’t perceive. His focus narrowed to this woman, this sofa, and all the combinations those things could do.
Her silk robe laid out beneath her, he lifted his head so that he could remove the pins from her hair. He wanted to see it. When she realized that’s what he wanted, she took over, removing pins as his hand slid lower, between her legs. She gasped, which brought him an unexpected satisfaction. She was slick with want already.
Honeyed hair tumbled down over her shoulders, longer than he’d realized, wavy with touches of auburn, until it settled over her breasts. He was stunned. Then she looked at him with her gray eyes, gripped his shoulder hard, and came, grinding into his hand.
“Fuck,” he whispered in awe, and somewhere in his chest, something ripped open.
“Your turn,” she said, her cheeks glowing, her eyes bright. “Shirt off. Now.”
He licked his lips in the face of this goddess. There was no arguing with her, reclined on her sofa, draped with hair and silk. His fingers somehow found the buttons on his cuffs. He threw off his coat and unbuttoned his waistcoat, shrugging it off, careful to place it on the floor as it contained his pocket watch. Next he pulled off the braces, then ripped away his collar and worked his shirt as quickly as possible. Finally, he sat before her bare chested, awaiting her judgement.
Her eyes flicked all over him, as If evaluating him, finding every freckle, discoloration, birthmark, and scar. With a singlelight finger, she touched the scars she found. The round cigar burn, about the size of a shilling, just under his collarbone. But her touch was like an anointment with oil. A sacred exploration.
The jagged scar from a rock that he’d failed to land on top of that should have been stitched, but he didn’t want to worry his mother, so he said nothing instead. The strange indentation on his side from another fall, this one out of a tree, that never healed, but rather knotted up, leaving a misshapen lump under his skin.
But Prudence asked no questions. She finished her assessment. “Take off your trousers.”
He stood while she reclined back, her head propped on her hand, as if he were about to give a lecture and not undress. She was unnerving, this woman. But Leo had prided himself on his self-possession. Ah yes, the very pride that had failed him earlier in the evening was now making him take off his trousers. Irony, that.
She bit her lip as he cast away his shoes, socks, and then his trousers. Finally, there was nothing between them but air. And that air was thick and humid and charged. But he dared not make a move, despite what his waving cockstand might demand.
“Is this agreeable?” he asked, his own challenge to her.
A teasing smile flitted past her swollen red lips. “Most agreeable.”
“Do you have another command for me?”
Her eyes went dark with desire as it sparked something in her imagination. The depth of her intelligence was not yet clear to him, and his cold heart sped as he anticipated her imagination.
“I want you to do what you did yesterday, with your mouth. But I want to be able to touch you while you do it.”
He raised his eyebrows, pleased. To be asked for encore performance was always a good sign. But he wasn’t going to lether get away with the request so easily. “I did a great many things with my mouth yesterday. To which are you referring?”
“Your mouth, between my legs. Where you lapped at my pearl.” Her cheeks didn’t flush, which surprised him. She was deadly serious, and if he did anything well, her second orgasm would not take long.
“As you command.” He knelt, pushing her legs apart.
