Duchess of Seduction (Hearts in Hiding 3)

A rapid, low drumming noise filled the vacuum left by the music which has ceased. Cressida watched, mesmerised, as the raven-haired beauty stepped forward and linked her hands behind Ariane’s neck then kissed her, ever so softly, upon the lips.

Good lord, did women do that? Cressida craned forward and saw the young woman’s pale blue eyes appeared slightly unfocused. Yet she looked so supremely at peace with her world that Cressida longed to learn her secret. How could she step out of her body like that? Was it the music? The sisterly bond?

She glanced around her, unsure if she should step forward and declare herself, for though she had been invited she’d slipped, unnoticed, into the room.

Fearing she’d break the mood or spell that seemed to have everyone in its thrall, she decided against it. Instead, incredulous, she took in the surreal scene: two women gently cradling each other before pressing themselves closer to deepen their kiss.

They had come here to give themselves—to enjoy themselves beyond the realm of men. Cressida had never imagined women sharing such intimacy. Was this giving themselves up to pleasure— without a man—sanctioned as a means of finding...what? Plugging that gaping hole inside oneself when there were no words or actions that could stem the pain?

When she imagined doing any such thing with Catherine, her mind closed up and her body revolted. No, the only person she would ever want to enjoy such closeness with was Justin.

But she couldn’t. Not without repercussions.

The reflection filled her with such deep sadness her legs felt weak and she wanted to weep on the spot.

When she

had last experienced true uninhibited and carefree enjoyment. Of the kind these women were sharing?

Too long ago to remember. And yet, there’d been so many wonderful occasions when, beneath the covers of the marital bed in the warmth of her chamber, Justin’s hard body had covered her own and he’d rained gentle kisses upon her; whipping up the kinds of responses from her that were wild and wonderful and completely unfeigned and which had so pleased him.

From the first night of marriage, Cressida had never been afraid of the act that she’d been warned by Catherine and the other women in her family it was her duty to stoically endure.

Stoically endure? What were they talking about, she’d wondered as her love for Justin took such an extraordinary turn from sensations she’d understood were restricted to the heart.

During one awkward, truncated conversation two days before she’d walked down the aisle, her aunt had hinted at what she must expect from her husband when she shared his bed. Sacrificing her body—since as the vessel that would carry the future heir underpinned the marriage contract—was implicit in this notion of ‘her duty’, she gathered. What this sacrifice actually entailed was explained in confusing and oblique terms, but it would consist of some rather crude fumbling beneath the covers followed by a painful and uncomfortable penetration of her nether regions. Thus were children created and Cressida’s role as wife and future mother of the next Duke of Lovett cemented, her existence justified.

Catherine, newly married herself, by then, had certainly not put the gloss on matters.

“Don’t be taken in by what your new husband does to try and make things less unpleasant for you, Cressy, for men are men,” Catherine had said. “You’ll think his kisses, and all the rest of it, are sincere—and so will he at the time—but then his interest will wane. After that, he’ll take what he wants without a thought for making it less unpleasant for you.” (For Cressida had hinted to her cousin her distress over the confusing conversation with her aunt.) “The worst part for you won’t be what happens in the bedroom,” Catherine had gone on gloomily, “but what happens in your mind.”

But when Cressida had got married she’d not been able to assimilate a word of their dire pronouncements with the reality of her blissful experiences in the marital chamber.

Continually, she’d been at pains to not cry out her pleasure. To admit to such ecstasy in view of what her aunt had said the act was all about, seemed wrong and sinful. Only when she discovered that her pleasure pleased Justin, did she end the charade, and those first couple of years of intimacy between herself and her adored husband had been the most wonderful of her life.

Well after the first glow of rapture might have been expected to have dimmed, Cressida had revelled in her husband’s tender ministrations. The glorious wantonness Justin managed to stir up inside her was the prelude to an endless series of shattering climaxes that preceded the peace and contentedness that always soothed her into sleep, Justin’s warm, loving breath on her neck.

Now, watching the women’s shared loving intimacy on stage was like opening the curtains on a new landscape.

Cressida drew in another shuddering breath, her body alive, nerve endings prickling the surface of her skin, a desperate, throbbing ache building between her legs as she remembered those halcyon days with Justin. If only she could return home tonight and offer up her body to his tender ministrations with no danger of what was likely to happen in nine months. If only she could surrender herself to his sweet touch, enjoying to the full his expert exploration of her body. It might have been ten months since they’d shared a bed but she was ever alive to his ability to create those shattering sensations that stunned her with their intensity at night. It was true that in the morning she was often ashamed that she, a matron with so many children, should revel in those bodily sensations so divorced from the realities of procreation.

She longed for them now but couldn’t talk of either her longing or her fears with Justin. That was the dreadful, painful reality.

But she could feast her eyes watching a two women enjoying a world full of love and beauty with no guilt, no terrible consequences. No conception, no pregnancy, no pain.

The women had not broken their kiss. Gently they swayed in time to the rhythm of the faint music, running their hands over each other’s face and body, caressing breasts and hips as if they were the most natural of gestures.

Cressida wondered why she wasn’t appalled.

All at once the tempo changed. Alertness pulsed through her as she sensed the sudden tense awareness between the women as they stepped apart, and she strained to see what was happening. The faint chanting rose to a crescendo then suddenly ceased, and from the shadows in the corner of the room strode a man, splendidly built, she observed, as a faint light burnished his statuesque silhouette. Cressida drew in her breath, embarrassed by her own response to the muscled physique and confident bearing of someone seemingly so splendid. She ran her clammy over her skirts while the back of her neck prickled as she thought of Justin and how she would feel if it were he advancing toward her.

The awe and admiration of her companions was similar as the four women drew together, arms linked as they gazed at this being who seemed to command such power.

The haze cleared a little, both in Cressida’s mind and in the room, though her head still swam with a sense of unreality. One of the women—Minna, she saw—broke away and disappeared into the shadows, returning to place three lighted candles on either side of what Cressida now saw was a large bed that thad been pushed into the center of the room, adorned with carved wooden posts and sheets of crisp, white linen. The man stood behind this on a raised dais and he beckoned to the women.

“I have returned.” His voice was low and mellifluous, and as Cressida strained to see more, she recognized him as the man who’d frightened her in the corridor. Ariane’s husband.

“Yes... Come to us at last.” Ariane sounded breathless and her face was shining as she pushed back her flowing golden hair. She made her way toward him, climbing what Cressida assumed must be a set of stairs hidden behind the bed. The stranger caught her to his muscled chest, sliding one hand up behind her neck, the other slowly caressing the contours of her body. With a soft groan, Ariane went slack, and he whisked her up into his arms and placed his mouth upon hers.