Part 8 (1/2)
He unb.u.t.toned the line of seed pearls that marched down the front of the garment. A piece of her came undone along with each b.u.t.ton. Then he parted the fabric with deliberate slowness, drawing his fingertips along her collarbones as he exposed more of her skin to view. Pleasure sparked in the wake of his touch.
”You see? Smooth, silky, beautiful,” he murmured into her hair.
Her breath ran shallow as he pushed the nightrail off one shoulder and let it slide down her arm. One breast was bared in the light of the fire, its tip a hardened nub. When she caught him looking at it in their shared reflection, her nipple actually throbbed.
She pressed a palm against it to still the strange ache.
”No, you don't,” he said, gently moving her hand from her breast. ”No hiding from yourself.”
”But it...I...” She could find no words for what she was feeling. It had happened before when he kissed her, and now that dull throb between her legs returned. All he had to do was look at her and the low drumbeat started.
”It's all right,” he said. ”What you're feeling is perfectly natural.”
”How could you know what I'm feeling?”
”Because I'm feeling the same sorts of things, only from a male perspective,” he said, meeting her gaze in the mirror. ”Every sensation is heightened, every touch potent with meaning.” He ran his palm from her shoulder down her arm to engulf her hand in his. The sleeve of her nightrail fell away so her ribs and the indentation of her waist on one side were visible in the looking gla.s.s. He reached around and cupped her exposed breast.
Her breath hissed in over her teeth.
”I love holding you like this,” he murmured and pressed a string of soft kisses to her nape. His hand was so warm, almost feverish on her skin. His thumb circled her nipple, making the ache even stronger.
She leaned back, reveling in the hard maleness of him. She'd always thought of herself as all angles and elbows, but in comparison to him, she felt soft. Feminine. Even her small breast seemed perfectly large enough, cradled as it was in his sheltering palm.
His kisses strayed to the side of her neck and up to her earlobe. He took the bit of flesh between his lips and sucked. All the air fled from her lungs in a whoosh. While he distracted her with that torrent of sensation, he pushed the nightrail off her other shoulder. The garment slid down and would have slipped past her hips to the floor if she hadn't caught it and clutched it to her waist.
”What are you doing?” she asked.
He straightened to his full height and eyed her reflection. The crown of her head fit neatly beneath his chin. ”Showing you that you're beautiful. All of you. Don't you want to see that you are?”
All of her. Surely he didn't mean that.
”I've heard that even some husbands and wives might not ever see each other in the altogether,” she said. ”Correct me if I'm wrong, but completely disrobing is not required in order to do the necessary, is it?”
”Do the necessary? Why on earth would you make something so pleasurable sound like a ch.o.r.e? From whom have you been taking s.e.xual advice?”
Some of her information had come from giggled conversations with other girls who were likely as ignorant as she. Knowledge of the basic mechanics of the act came from her close a.s.sociation with horse breeding.
Then there was Mrs. Noddlingham's Practical Advice for Young Ladies of Quality, a book her mother had given her in lieu of actually talking to her about what pa.s.ses between a man and a woman in the marriage bed. The book was light on specifics, but according to Mrs. Noddlingham, disrobing wasn't actually required for taking a bath either.
”A chaste girl might do very well to bathe in her s.h.i.+ft,” Mrs. Noddlingham advised, ”in order to avoid seeing her own body and thereby entertaining any lewd thoughts that unwholesome sight might engender.”
The sight of her bare body in the mirror didn't seem particularly unwholesome, and Olivia wouldn't cla.s.s any of her thoughts as lewd. She was more bewildered than anything else. Olivia wished now that she'd asked Babette about it. Surely one who'd been a lady's maid for a courtesan would be a fount of sensual information.
”It might surprise you to learn that I do know something about the subject,” she said, hoping to sound worldly while trying to ignore the way he continued to ma.s.sage her breast. ”Because, ah...” He gave her nipple a little flick and the shock of it resonated to her toes. ”Er...you see, I've...I've read a bit about marital urges.”
”Marital urges. Lord spare me. Something that could be called 'doing the necessary' with your clothes on is not my idea of how to satisfy any sort of urge, marital or otherwise.” He cupped her other breast as well. ”There's nothing about what you and I are doing that's 'necessary,' but you can't deny it's fun.”
He was right. It was fun. Her skin was glowing. Her insides were a riot of excitement. She'd never felt more alive.
Or more guilty.
”It's also wicked.”
He grinned at her. ”That, my dear, is part of its charm.” Then the grin faded. ”But the truth is you are still as pure as when we began this lesson, are you not?”
”If you want to split hairs, I suppose-”
”A simple yes will suffice. In fact, 'yes' is all I want to hear from you for a while.” Rhys smoothed his palms down her ribs, the calluses at the bases of his fingers nicking her skin with p.r.i.c.kles of pleasure. He settled them on her hip bones where the nightrail neckline was still perched. ”May I show you how beautiful you are all over?”
Yes, please. I know I'm not plump and pretty like Miss Amanda Pinkerton. I know my hips are too narrow and my legs too thin. I know my- ”Olivia?”
She swallowed hard. ”Yes,” she whispered. ”Show me.”
Rhys drew a deep breath. Wanting had left him hard put to keep his voice from going ragged. As well as hard in another way. Now it would take all his self-control not to go too far with this first lesson. He'd meet Mr. Alc.o.c.k's expectations eventually. There was no need to rush matters.
Olivia trusted him. He wasn't about to betray her tonight. Not when he needed her trust in order to keep her safe.
Gently, he eased her nightrail down, over her hips, past her lovely heart-shaped b.u.m, and let it drop to the floor. He purposely didn't look in the mirror. He wanted her to watch him as he took in the exquisite lines of her back, her b.u.t.tocks, and legs. He wanted her to see the glow of masculine approval in his face, because he was sure he was fairly lighting the room with it.
Rhys ran his fingertips across her shoulders and down her spine. He dallied at the small of her back and then traced the crease under each b.u.m cheek.
”Oh!” she squeaked out.
”Like that, did you?”
”It was...enlightening.”
”In what way?” He met her eyes in the mirror now.
She dropped her gaze. ”I'm learning that certain parts of my body seem to be linked to other parts in ways I'd hitherto not suspected.”
He reached around and slipped a finger under her chin. ”Look at me.”
When she looked up at his reflection, the whites showed beneath her dark irises, making her eyes seem even larger than usual. Her mouth parted softly. She looked so vulnerable, as if she hung upon his next words.
”You are beautiful, Olivia,” he said softly. ”In every part.” He let his gaze sweep down the mirror past her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, her slender waist, her tight little belly b.u.t.ton, to the sleek triangle of light brown curls at the apex of her thighs. ”Especially there.”
He looked back up at her face and smiled.
She caught her bottom lip with her teeth for a moment, and then a smile stole over her, luminous enough to brighten the whole room. Rhys knew he should feel guilty over what he was doing with this innocent, but if he helped her believe in how lovely she really was, surely that wasn't a bad thing, was it?
Of course, he'd be the first to admit he was a bit fuzzy on the whole concept of good versus bad of late.
Once, his sense of ”ought-ness” had been as well-honed as a preacher. One ought to do this. One ought not to do that. Even if his actions often placed him on the outside of the fence of propriety, at least he knew where the fence was.