Lady Bess

Bess laughed, and then once again they fell silent.

With no sign of the earl, the next hour ticked by slowly. Bess sighed heavily, got to her feet once more, and said, “Well, then, I’m for bed.” She poured herself a larger glass of sherry and inclined her head before she started off.

“Wait—we’re going up as well,” Donna said.

At the top of the stairs, they bid her a ‘sleep tight’ and went off to their own guestroom suite. Bess turned down the hall and went into her room. A chill caught her as she undressed, and she shivered as she climbed naked into the bed and pulled the covers over her head.

She’d lain there for an hour, unable to sleep, when she heard a man’s footsteps outside her door. The earl. Breathless, she waited, but though she heard the sound of the latch, as though someone had lightly touched it, no one knocked, and no one entered.

She heard retreating footsteps and for a moment was caught up in a grand state of disappointment. It was then that she made up her mind.

She took up her warm velvet wrapper and donned it as she padded to her bedroom door. She opened it slowly and stuck her head into the hallway. Of course, it was late, and no one was about.

Hurriedly and yet quietly she made her way down the long, wide hallway to the earl’s suite of rooms, where she stood in the dark, undecided. Should I knock? Idiot, she told herself. Knock, indeed. You want to go in and climb into his bed and seduce him with passionate love. Does a woman like that knock? Nooo. Be that woman, she told herself. And there she stood, unable to go back to her room, unable to go into his.

Ridiculous, she told herself. That is what you are. You think you are a modern woman who, like the Godwin woman, can throw caution to the wind and go after what you must, but you are just a silly girl who will lose all because you have propriety weighing you down. Shed it. Shed it now—go in there, be what you have to be, what you want to be. He is what you want. His kisses are what you want …

Bravado took over, and she opened the door. He had not drawn his drapes, and the light of the new moon was on him as he stood half naked by his bed. She heard his intake of breath, and then he said, “Bess …” It was all he said. She ran to him, he took her into his arms, and all doubts were vanquished.

That kiss, his kiss, his tongue at first fiercely taking ownership, became gentle, became loving, taught her tongue how to respond as he pressed her into his arms—and then suddenly he was setting her away.

“Go. Back. To. Your room.”

His voice sounded agonized. He didn’t mean it, she told herself. He was trying to look out for her. She knew it and disregarded his words. “No,” she answered and boldly ran her hand over his naked, muscular chest. She couldn’t say more, didn’t know how to put into words what she was feeling, what she wanted.

“Bess, I am only human … you can’t tempt me like this …”

“Yes, I can,” was what she answered, and she got onto her toes and nibbled at the nape of his neck because it was all she could reach as he held himself away from her.

He turned, took her shoulders, and set her apart. “Go back to your room. You are an innocent, and I don’t want to—”

“I want you to,” she said softly and dropped her velvet wrapper.

He groaned and bent to pick it up to cover her naked body, but she threw it aside and pulled his hand to her breast. “You want me, I want you, nothing more—we can make this nothing more.”

He moaned and with a growl took her back into his arms, kissed her lips, her ears, her neck, and then once again her mouth. This time his tongue did not gentle hers but ravished hers, and even though he was so much wilder than he had been a moment ago, even so, she felt something larger than passion move him. Something inside her was satisfied, and she knew, even if he didn’t want to admit it yet, she knew what he felt. He loved her. He really did love her, and that knowledge exploded the last of her inhibitions. She knew she was doing the right thing, at the right time.

He spun her around and bent her onto his bed. Then he climbed up beside her and pulled her to him as he worked his breeches and released himself. He asked softly, “Bess, sweet lass … do ye know what ye are doing to me? Ye are blasting all m’principles, all—”

She reached up and put a finger to his lush mouth to interrupt him. “I do,” she murmured.

He seemed to want to make her run, for his voice sounded harsh. “Are ye ready, do ye think, lass, ye be ready for this …” He took her hand and put it to his shaft.

She told herself he was trying to shock her. She was, in fact, shocked and murmured, “Oh, faith.”

And then shock blossomed into curiosity, and curiosity exploded into passion. She stroked his hard manhood and then looked up at his face.

He was lost to her and the moment. She saw it, and then the next thing she knew he was bent low over her and his lips burned a trail from her neck to her breasts, which he fondled as he suckled at her nipples.

She found her body responding in ways she had not thought possible. She arched to his handling and felt her thighs clench and unclench and then repeat the motion as though that part of her body had a will of its own—had knowledge she had never been aware of before.

His kisses took her away to another place where sensation ruled and conquered, took control and wielded her heart and mind into one.

She didn’t know when or how he got his breeches off, but he suddenly was on his knees and st

aring with hard, bright eyes at her. “Ravishing, m’bonny sweet lass. Ye make me feel like a king.”

“You are a king,” she whispered.