Wedding Violet (Fair Cyprians of London 4)

It had been a blessing and a bane her entire life. It’s how she’d stumbled, then fallen into a profession that sucked dry all goodness from her soul.

It’s why she was here, now, with a man who made her blood fizz in her veins like champagne as she contemplated the direction ‘aligning their stories’ might take.

“This is the house,” she said after a few minutes’ walk, indicating a tall, four-square residence set back from the street with a neat brick path leading to a black front door. Neat, respectable, and discreet.

And owned by a woman, equally so in each respect, who asked no questions as she handed them a key in exchange for Max’s coins.

Violet didn’t even blush. There was little point in false modesty when she was destined for hell anyway.

“Do you come here often?” he asked as they mounted the stairs.

“I’ve never been here.” She raised one eyebrow at his subtle quizzing. “My friend, Charity, uses it all the time though, as a place to meet her young man in private.”

“My, my, he sounds accommodating.”

“He was her first client.” They’d reached their room at the end of the corridor, and Violet waited as Max inserted the key. She wanted to stroke the back of his head as he bent slightly. Instead, she added, “His grandfather had been horrified to learn his grandson was a virgin at twenty-three and so funded an educational evening at Madame Chambon’s. Charity was also a virgin, so little help apparently. But they’ve been desperately in love for the past eighteen months. He pays most of his allowance to keep her exclusively. He’s waiting until he comes into his inheritance when he turns twenty-five, so he can set her up properly. In the meantime, he brings her here whenever he can.”

“A veritable lovers’ nest.” Indeed it was, Violet saw as Max threw open the bedroom door and they were met by the sight of a large, cushioned four-poster beneath a canopy of cream, gauzy bed hangings. The room was not large, but big enough to also accommodate a rose-velvet sofa by a merrily crackling fireplace.

“It has everything but the draughts board,” Violet said on a soft laugh as she looked at the empty side table. But her insides were churning. She was achingly conscious of the man beside her, and she shivered in anticipation as she felt his fingertips slowly stroke her neck.

“I don’t think I’m in the mood for draughts this evening.” His voice was hoarse.

“Nor I.” Violet heard the wanting in hers.

There was no need for words as she sank into his embrace. The cologne-imbued musky scent of his skin and the caress of his breath upon her cheek were all she needed to arch her neck and give him access to the buttons at her throat.

“You kiss very well, Lord Belvedere,” she whispered as he worked the fastenings loose, and with commendable dexterity, slipped his hand into her bodice, then insinuated it beneath the layers of her underpinnings to cup her breast. Tingles of excitement charged up her spine as he fondled the nipple, at the same time as removing her jacket while Violet worked at her skirt fastenings.

Soon she was wearing nothing but her corset, chemise, and stockings, lying across the bed while he towered, shirtless, above her, his handsome face focused intently upon her as if she were the most prized morsel he’d hunted all day.

“How do you plan to explain our first meeting to your aunt, my Lord?” Violet asked, smiling up at him, her dark ringlets charmingly framed against the white pillows. “We’ve not much we can be truthful about.”

“Damn the truth, my fair wench. I don’t care what story you want to concoct. All I’m interested in is ravishing you this very moment.”

She murmured a muffled agreement into his neck as he swooped upon her, his hand skimming the length of one thigh and rucking up her lawn petticoat at the same time. When it arrived at the juncture of her legs, she was wet with wanting, curling into him as she worked the buttons of his trousers.

“And I want you naked so I can see you,” she whispered when she found her voice. “And feel you.”

His touch was as sweet as it was achingly sensual. Violet had never been moved by intimacy with a man. Until now. She’d fancied herself in love before, but her initiation to lovemaking had been brief and disappointing. What followed had been even more disheartening and, after that, nothing but a series of charades.

This was real.

He pulled her against him when he was unashamedly naked, deftly unlacing her corset, whisking off her chemise, then burying his head between her breasts. Breathing her in deeply, he contoured her curves, his large, warm, gentle hands quickly finding the nub of her desire.

“So, this is where you like it?” he whispered, sliding his fingers through its moistness, causing Violet to shudder. “My sweet Violet, I am your slave.”

“Just keep doing what you’re doing,” she returned, her body feeling boneless yet at the same time a seething mass of sensation.

She kissed the top of his head as he bent to his work. Burying her face in his light-brown curls, she surrendered herself completely, for the first time ever, to a man’s tender ministrations.

For he was as tender as he was passionate, his hands smoothing her skin, fingers working their magic, bringing her to an ever-heightened awareness of what it was to truly feel the need of a man. And she pleasured herself through the mere touch of him, tracing his bones, his muscles, circling his nipples like they were delicate shells, skimming her hands over his flanks until she could grasp his rod, causing him to sink into the mattress on a groan.

“You are quite magnificent, sweet Violet, and I want you now.”

“Then you shall have me,” she vowed, wriggling over him, fusing her hips to his before he flipped her onto her back and loomed over her.

In the dim light, his eyes glowed and his mouth curved. “Are we ready for this?” he asked on a low rumble of a laugh as she shivered to feel the tip of his manhood seeking her entrance.