Lady Varney's Risqué Business Read online

  “And what do most men want in a wife?”

  A wanton. “Someone congenial. Demure. From good stock.”

  “Good in bed?” he challenged with lightning in his eyes.

  Someone they can train. Then, tame. Or forget. “Not necessarily.”

  “More’s the pity.”

  “I agree,” she said perhaps too quickly. She glanced down at her folded hands, then up at him, the memory of her soulless union washing over her cold body. “More marriages would be blissful if the arts of love were fully employed.”

  He stepped closer. “How true. So then you do not think me odd for requiring—shall we call it—an audition?”

  Daring. “Forthright.”

  “Your first candidate for me did not last the afternoon.”

  A thrill rippled up Kitty’s spine at knowledge of that failure. Kitty set her chin, attempting a nonchalance that was false. “Maribella confided in me afterward.” She was thrilled at the woman’s reticence. Indeed, Kitty knew Maribella to lack a spine. An imagination, too. How would a woman like that make love? With the candles doused. Her clothes on, too, probably!

  His gaze narrowed, a sudden small vulnerability to his expression. “She came to you?”

  “No. She wrote me a letter of apology for her decision to leave here early.”

  Oddly, he appeared relieved. “She did not give you a reason?”

  Kitty shook her head. “I think she was embarrassed.”

  “Embarrassed to be here?” he pressed her.

  “Of course. Alone with a man she barely knew. In his hideaway.”

  “It is the estate’s wedding cottage,” he clarified with set jaw.

  “How sweet,” Kitty murmured, titillated at the romantic notion of a solitary love nest. But she sobered, knowing Justin intended to seduce others here. “She was frightened.”

  “She is a puritan.”

  Kitty stared at him. “She had a happy marriage so I do doubt she—”

  “Even knows what seduction is.” He sidled closer, observing her every breath with a predator’s ease. “She refused even to let me kiss her.”

  Oh, wonderful! Appalled at her own joy, Kitty cleared her throat. “Well, if that is all—”

  “She would not come anywhere near the cottage.”

  Kitty’s heart did not lift. It soared. How silly you are to rejoice at that.

  “How far will you come?” he asked in such a dulcet tone that she barely heard him.

  “I am here, Justin,” she managed in such a raw voice she hated herself for the desire it showed. “Here to fulfill the terms of our business arrangement.”

  “Is that the only reason you are here?”

  To make ribald memories to keep me sated at night in my bedroom. “To be honest,” she whispered, “no. But the reason is rather…risqué, and I am not used to sharing my innermost secrets with anyone.”

  “Once long ago, you shared them with me.”

  She nodded. “As you say, that was long ago. And we are older. Changed.”

  “More protective of yourself now, I see then.”

  “I am.”

  “I still must know your motives,” he demanded.

  “How can they be so important to you?” she evaded him.

  “After all these years, Kitty, how can they not be vital?”

  “Very well. What if I tell you before I leave?”

  With a look she could term no other than remorse swimming in his eyes, he said, “Promise me that.”

  “I do.”

  “No prevarications from this moment on,” he insisted.

  She nodded, trying for a gravity of purpose her gaily-tripping heart belied. “So be it.”

  He put out his hand. “Then come kiss me to seal the deal.”

  “No, I—can’t.” Afraid to appear silly and unsophisticated, she sucked in a breath. “When we were on your ship, you never touched me.”

  “Except to kiss you. But you know why you are here.” His gaze dropped to her clinging clothes. “Come now. This kiss, of necessity, will be very different from those youthful ones.”

  She swallowed audibly and stood her ground. “You will be disappointed.”

  “I was not in your drawing room two weeks ago. I doubt I will be now.”

  She inhaled, looked at the moon. “I am not what you assume.”

  “Which is what?”

  “Knowledgeable about men and relations.”

  “You mean sex.”

  “Yes. Simply because I was married is no reason to believe that I am capable of having any kind of…of…”

  He flowed closer and in the luminous light, his raven looks resurrected her dreams of him all those lonely nights she had yearned for him. But now he was flesh and blood. Within reach. Warm. Vibrant. Masculine. Hers. “I know of what you are capable, Kitty. I saw it in you then. I see it now.”

  “Why must I kiss you? Why must I be the aggressor?”

  “Because what we do here—all of what we do here—will be because you want it.”

  That touched her tender heart and made her bite her lower lip. Tears threatened her composure and that outlandish joy she could not show him.

  “I will not hurt you, Kitty. Never that.”

  How could he know she wanted that declaration above all else? Had he made inquiries about Henry’s and her relationship? No. No. Who knew of that horror, but Maggie? No one. That left her with the only answer she could give him, “I do trust you.”

  The corners of his mouth lifted gently. “Well, then, Lady Varney, allow me.”

  He sank his fingers up into her hair and flowed nearer. His nose slid along hers, his mouth brushed hers. His arms came around her, and he ravished her lips.

  She gasped and clutched him closer. His body was iron and heat and heaven. His tongue opened her lips, touched inside, sank deeply and drank her into him.

  “God! Justin!” She broke for air.

  His mouth, wet and fierce, trailed down her jaw to her throat. With his teeth, he opened her wrapper wider, slid her negligee lower and suddenly, his lips were on her nipple. Sucking her inside the cavern of his mouth, he drew on her with such ferocity she groaned. One arm held her at the waist, supporting her as he bent her back over his arm, opening her to him. One hand skimmed her other breast and slid along her torso, her belly, to her mons and beneath the silken robe, he delved and cupped her mound.

  “Christ, my darling, you are bare.” He sank a finger between her sleek, pulsing labia. He stroked her, the sound of her juices, her readiness for him, a sweet beckon to his seduction. He bent and caught her up in his arms, then strode through the copse.

  She wrapped her arms around his neck and wanted to shriek in delight. She was his. Would be soon.

  He strode through the copse avoiding branches with speed and dexterity. If in her heated mind she thought she smelled roses, she took it as a sign of her freedom from anxiety. This tryst, despite its forbidden flavor, held for her the fragrance of release from so many of her past torments.

  In a clearing, she spied his cottage. Candles blazed inside. He had planned this. Just as he had planned so carefully for their first encounter, he had prepared well for this.

  He pushed the door ajar and stepped into the tiny house. The fireplace was aglow, the candles’ flames low. The aroma of roses seductive. He let her slide to the floor and turned her to him, his fingers twined in her close-cropped curls. “What do you think of it?”

  She stood on tiptoe and reached up to peck him sweetly on the lips. Somehow, someway, he had destroyed her fear of this and summoned from deep within her an enjoyment of the moment. This. And him. “You have done very well. This is our nest for the next day, I presume?”

  “You are correct.” He beamed, proud of himself.

  Her eyes went wide, teasing him. “What of our clothes?”

  His hazel eyes narrowed. “We need none.”

  “Your hair brush? Mine?” she teased.

  He planted his lips in her curls. “I ha
ve a new one here for you.”

  “A bath?”

  His mouth descended to her cheekbone, her collarbone, the tip of one begging breast. “I am at your service as your manservant, my lady.”

  She would have giggled, but he sank to his knees, kissing his way from her navel to her pelvic bone. When she had wits enough about her to form a few words, she could merely whisper, “Perfume? I like perfume.”

  “And I,” he ground out as his mouth found her smoothly polished cunny and his tongue slipped inside her seam, “love yours, my darling Puss.”

  He knew her secret name. What else? What else? But her mind blanked as he probed inside her with a demanding tongue. He stroked her swelling labia. Licked her. Flicked his tongue at the entrance to her cunny and then, with two deft fingers, spread her lips apart.

  “Sweet Puss, open wider. I am suddenly ravenous.”

  “Oh, yes,” she murmured, grabbing his shoulders to steady herself. “So am I.”

  At her invitation, he darted his tongue inside and somehow found an absolutely wonderful spot to suck and tickle.

  She felt mindless. Boneless. “You will undo me with this, Justin.”

  “No, my sweet.” He paused, looked up at her, met her gaze and grinned, then sent two probing fingers deep inside her cunt. “I am eating you. And loving every morsel.”

  “I had no idea a man would want such—”

  “A treat?” His face was alight with ribald joy. “I will have you this way every hour.”

  Her knees shook at the naughty possibility. “I shall be ready for Bedlam.”

  “Just ready for bed.” He chuckled, rose to his feet and tugged her toward the far end of the cottage. Through a door. “Come lay down and let me dine. I promise to enthrall you.”

  She saw before her an enormous four-poster bed, set with soft white linens and a dozen or so pillows of every size and shape imaginable. What were they for? Her pussy gushed with hopeful answers. Then she turned and shrugged out of the wrapper.

  His gaze defined her body in the transparent silk gown. And when his eyes met hers again, she gathered it up and pulled it over her head. Such a useless scrap, the sheer silk puddled on the floor, and as it did she realized she let fall with it her shyness. Her modesty. Her fear. This was Justin. As she had needed him. Aflame, hers alone.

  She let her hands fall to her sides. “I have never had an affair.”

  “I know,” he breathed as his gaze absorbed the sight of her nude body. “Christ, you are the loveliest creature.” He stepped near, his palms cupping her breasts. “Beautiful nipples.” He thumbed the points, and she bit her lower lip. “I shall take such good care of you, Puss.”

  “Teach me…things? Will you?”

  “Whatever you desire.” His heavy-lidded green-brown eyes seemed afire. “Name your pleasure.”

  She stepped backward to the bed and sank upon the mattress. Sliding, she positioned herself fully on it, then opened her thighs. “Come eat me again. I adored that.”

  He sucked in his breath, put one knee to the bed and one hand to her mound. “At your command, my dear lady.” He kneaded her. “You are so plump here. Soft. How long have you been shaven?”

  “Waxed,” she corrected him and undulated as he climbed up between her thighs.

  “Waxed! By whom?” Justin seemed outraged and envious.

  She preened, delighted at his reaction. “He uses wax and honey. Then a polishing stone.”

  Justin cursed wildly. “He? A man does this?”

  “A Turk.”

  “A—a Turk?” Justin was nigh on to apoplectic.

  “You have stopped caressing me, Justin,” she reminded him, petulant and needy.

  “How long have you had this man serve you?”

  “A few months,” she told him, watching his eyes grow wide and his cheeks flame. “But you like the result.”

  “The hell I do!” he shot back.

  “Admit it,” she beseeched him, “and give me more of you.”

  “Of all the….” But he spread her lips open with one hand and with the other, sent one long finger inside her.

  “Ohhh, delightful.” She felt a gush of liquid rush over his fingers. “That, mmm, that is wonderful.”

  “How true,” he drove his finger more deeply within. “How did you find this Turk?”

  “Find him? Oh. Um.” She wiggled to get closer to him. “My sister learned of him before her wedding. He does this for ladies of theton. He is…oh, yes, I like your strokes—um. Yes.”

  “He is—what?” Justin bent to lick her seam in encouragement, then paused.

  She mewled at his withdrawal. “Come back to me.”

  “I will, when you tell me who touches you, my Puss.”

  She gave Justin the man’s name. “He is discreet. And gentle.”

  “Really? How good of him.”

  Her eyes shot open, and she saw by Justin’s frown he certainly did not think it good of the Turk to do this for her.

  “How much do you pay him?”

  “Five pounds.”

  “Five—” Justin curved a hand under her derriere and bent to dart his tongue inside her cunt. “Does he do more than wax you? Hmm?” he asked as he nuzzled her and found a spot inside her to tickle with the tip of his tongue. “Does he?”

  “No. No. Just—oh, my.” She lifted her head to watch Justin spread her lips to lick along the insides of her cunny. Her head fell back to the mattress while sensations rippled through her.

  “He does a very good service.” Justin breathed.

  She gulped. “I thought so myself.”

  Justin lifted her thighs to drape them over his. “Are you ever embarrassed when he is near?”

  “Some. But he says I am…”

  “You are what?” He urged her, his hands still.

  “Well formed.” She trembled as his two hands suddenly washed over her inner thighs and spread her cunny lips so wide she felt her face flush.

  “I agree. Lucky man. Does he fondle you?” Justin pushed his finger in and out of her cunt. “Excite you?”

  “Fondle?” She caught her lower lip between her teeth. “No. Excite? I dream of—” You.

  “Dream no more, my darling.” Justin stroked her lips and pinched a small part of her cunny so that she shot upward. “Am I good?”

  “The best!” she gasped. “Do that again, please.”

  “This?” Justin complied and sent stars shooting inside her mind.

  “Yes, yes.”

  “This Turk. How often do you see him?”

  “Once a month.”

  Justin tickled the same spot that sent her reeling, and she bucked. “He sees a very prettychat while we works. Your folds. Your plump core. He must smell your musk and tasted your cream.”

  “No, no. He has not dared to touch me. Only you.”

  “Only me,” he whispered and lifted two fingers to his mouth to suck them dry, then sink inside her to gather more of her juices and offer her the same treat. “Taste how sweet you are.”

  Stunned, she opened her mouth and with her gaze in his, she licked his fingers clean. In their nine years together Henry had used every ribald term for every part of her female form but had never helped her learn or share any passion. “Thank you. I did not know how good it is.”

  “I see it,” he told her and then smiled like an accomplished rake. “I shall do my best to educate you.”

  “Do.”

  Grinning sadly, Justin proceeded to name her parts for her.

  “Your mons.” Her mound. “Your lips.” Labia. “Your core.” Cunt. Cunny. “Your cream.” Love spunk. “Your sweet pussy.” Her insides, thick and soft and yielding, melted in his open-handed claim.

  She groaned, in agony of want of him.

  “You are my Puss.”

  Nearly blind with his caresses, she could barely breathe. She rose up on an elbow, caught him at his nape and pleaded against his marvelous mouth, “Then let’s take your clothes off, my darling, so you can show me how
to make love to you.”

  Chapter Three

  He pushed to his feet to stand beside the bed. With one shrug of his massive shoulders, he let his dressing gown fall to the floor.

  “I had forgotten how strong you are,” she whispered. She rose up on her knees, eager to touch him. Everywhere. Her hands drew him close, and she brushed her aching nipples against his stiff white shirt. She caressed his throat. Strong, dark and smooth. “Let me feel.”

  He braced his feet as she began to stroke the opening of his shirt and undo his buttons. But she shook with excitement. “I’m clumsy.”

  “Not used to undressing a man? I find that refreshing.” He lifted his arms, the cords in his throat working. “Take it off.”

  She smiled and lifted the garment over his head, then let it drop to the floor. “Oh, Justin, I had forgotten this, too. Your chest,” she whispered as she splayed her fingers in his springy dark hair. “How can you be so much man and I had forgotten?”

  He wrapped her close, his mouth a seeking, demanding thing on hers. “Tonight is to remember.”

  “And forget,” she blurted, driven, hungry for him as she fingered one of his nipples.

  He gasped and stilled her hand. “Forget Henry.”

  “With you in my arms, oh yes.”

  Justin held her nape and kissed her once more, hard and fast. “He is not worth one moment.”

  “No. Only you.” Her hands sank to Justin’s trousers. His flies. The buttons. And with her palms against his warm supple loins, she sank inside and felt the raging evidence of how this man was so different from Henry. So vital. So erect. So deliciously hard and ready for her.

  She brushed his trousers down his hips and looked at his need for her. “Oh, my. Justin. I will not be able to take you, darling. You are too large. Too…too long and broad.”

  He grasped her wrist. “Touch me.”

  “No, no.” She yanked from his hold. “I will disappoint you.”

  “Never. Touch me.” He took her fingers and wrapped them around his hot, rigid cock.

  “Justin, you are longer than my hand!”

  He snorted, his gaze dark golden green as he smiled at her. “Darling. You have made me so. I do promise you that you can take me.”

  “How?”

  He led her to move her hand back and forth along his improbable length. “Just as your hand takes this and enjoys this, so will your cunt.”