Caversham’s Bride

Chapter Five-2

After several minutes, Lia pulled away, wiping her eyes with the backs of her hands. “I will please you every night. Live out my time in service to you, gladly. And I will repay any expenses you incur on my behalf, if you will only rescue my brother and our nurse from my aunt’s home. I will do whatever you ask of me—anything—for them. Please? Will you help me?”

“I will think on it,” he replied, as he mentally wondered at the speed with which he could recall his crews and sail to Italy.

Large green eyes, red-rimmed and glistening with tears looked up at him and something constricted in his chest. Wisps of sable-colored hair had fallen loose from her comb, and blew into her face from the gentle breeze in the garden. He brushed it back with his fingers, his palm touching her wet cheek. She rested her face in his hand, closing her eyes.

“I haven’t much time,” she whispered. Backing away, she fell to her knees before him, her hands rubbing her legs nervously as she stared up at him. “What can I say, what can I do, to persuade you to help me? I would give my own life to spare his.” She folded her hands together in a praying fashion, begging him as a fresh wash of tears began to fall freely down her face. “He’s just a baby. My parents loved him so.”

“I haven’t refused you, Lia. I said I would think on it, meaning my current plans must be altered, and arrangements made.” He wiped the tears from her cheeks, and rested his hand on her face. “And I’m sure your parents loved you as much as they did your brother.”

“They did,” she whispered.

Lia took his hand and brought the palm to her lips. The simple gesture sent a raging inferno through Ren’s body. The tip of her tongue traced a line between his fingers, causing his breeches to become uncomfortably tight. He groaned as she took his middle finger between her lips and gently sucked, the tip of her tongue sliding up and down the digit, making his c**k harder.

Taking his hand away, he stared into her eyes. Right at that moment he decided. It was the solution to both their problems. “I know a way.” His gaze lowered to her moist, full lower lip, wondering how it would feel on his.

“Anything, Your Grace,” she whispered. Bringing his hand back, she kissed his palm once again, then his wrist, and then the inside of his bare forearm.

“You should hear what my dilemma is first, and understand my proposed solution.”

“Anything within my power is yours.”

He raised her hand, lifting her to stand before him. He gazed into her deep green eyes, and felt a hot tremor course up his arm to his chest. “I need an heir. A legitimately born son. As soon as possible.”

Wide-eyed, she stared at him, obviously shocked by his words. “For that you would need a wife.”

“To save your brother and your nurse, you need me and my ships.”

“Your Grace, surely a man as handsome as yourself, assuming you have a little coin, can find a lady to marry in your own country.”

“I don’t want someone from my own country.” He held her chin in his hand as he stared into her face. “I want you.”

“But we don’t know each other,” she said, then closed her eyes. “I’m Catholic and will not convert.”

“You might have to in order for our son to inherit my title.”

“Why? Why me?”

“I desire you.” She tried to turn away, but he prevented her with the merest increase in pressure. His thumb stroked her lower lip, then two fingers stroked her cheek. “And I think…” He moved in closer and lowered his lips to within a hairs breadth of hers, and whispered, “you do not…” He pressed them to hers momentarily to gauge her reaction. She sighed in his arms, and he added, “dislike me.”

Acting on that intense desire to truly kiss her, Ren claimed her mouth finally, and after an awkward moment, she parted for him. She tasted of the wine she just drank, dusky sweet and extremely rare. His tongue traveled the sharply uneven planes of her teeth, and dueled with hers.

He held her to him, his hands roaming her back from the arc of her shoulders to the curve of her well-formed bottom. She wore nothing under the pantalettes, and that knowledge stirred him even more. His hands roved forward, around to her waist and upward, covering her breasts. Full and firm, her n*****s were hardened with desire, and he flicked his thumbs over each peak. When she pressed into him and wrapped her arms around his waist, his c**k throbbed uncomfortably behind the placard of his breeches. He hadn’t frightened her with his ardency, which was something he worried about because it had been so long for him. But she still had not agreed to his proposal, and he wanted to know. Had to know.

“Do you agree to my terms?” He whispered near her ear as he began to kiss a trail down the long column of her neck. She nodded, but that wasn’t good enough. For some reason he needed to hear it from her lips. “Say it, Lia. Tell me you agree.” She moaned as his lips reached the sensitive area where her neck met her shoulders.

“Why?”

“I want to hear you say it.”

She sighed as his thumbs raked over her hardened n*****s.

“Yes.”

“Yes to what?”

“I will marry you.” Her words came out on a whisper, as her knees buckled under her. She marveled at the sensations as her entire body awakened under his touch. Where did those words come from? Lia couldn’t believe she’d just agreed to marry the man. He’d used her own body against her, to get the response he’d wanted. Even now, his hands moved on her body bringing her to life, as if until this moment she had merely existed. His firm lips worked magic on hers, and she arched into him giving him more, offering her body to him.

Starved for breath, she tried to pull away, but one hand curved about her neck, bringing her even closer. She didn’t think she could get any nearer to him than she already was. His fingers raked through the hair of her nape, and traveled upward, pulling the comb free. Then his nimble fingers unclasped the choker, and dropped it onto the dressing table. Turning away from her, he took her hand and led them to one of the two intricately-carved wooden wing chairs in the center of the room.

He lowered himself into it, and said, “Disrobe for me, Lia.”

She stood between his spread knees, her thighs touching his, and stared at him, trying to decide if that was a request or a command. If she did not comply, what would he do? Her pulse began to race, and the room started to feel warmer as she contemplated her next move.

“I asked you to disrobe, Lia.” In the dimly lit room, she trembled at his request. She wasn’t afraid, and it wasn’t particularly cool out, so she didn’t understand her body’s reaction to his words.

She began to move, slowly at first, taking the hem of the tunic in her hands and lifting it upward. Disrobing would be fast, as she wore nothing beneath the outfit. She removed her tunic, exposing her breasts to his gaze. She watched his expression and thought she saw the corner of his lips curve, revealing a dimple.

Lia could now see some truth in the old whoremaster’s words. A willing woman could ask her man for the moon and he would attempt to give it to her. Only old Ashraf never said the power a woman held over a man would thrill her to the point it made her want to please him.

Once the tunic was on the floor, her hands went to the drawstring waist of the pantalettes and untied them. “Let me,” he whispered before she lowered them.

Eyes lowered as instructed, she felt a warm excitement in her breast. “Look at me.” She did as she was told, fighting a strange desire to smile at him. His hands raked her skin as he placed two fingers into the waist of her pantalettes, his rough palms grazing over her sensitive flesh, and pulled the drawstring loose. Removing his hands, he let the silken garment fall to the ground.

Lia stood before him, naked except for the sandals on her feet. His hands reached out to touch her breasts, and she leaned into them, wanting his touch on her body. She held his gaze. His hands moved lower, coming to rest over her belly, sending rivulets of fire through her veins. One hand turned and he cupped the smooth, hairless skin of her femininity. He looked into her eyes, and she understood his question.

“I have been denuded for your pleasure, Your Grace,” she said in a quivering voice, while willing her knees not to give out.

“I’d not thought to ask before now, but how old are you?”

“I am nineteen.” She wondered if the fact that she were so old would repulse him.

“That is good.” His fingers parted her and one slid over her nub, causing her to moan, then buckle slightly at his invasion, her hands reached out to his shoulders to steady herself.

“Relax, Lia,” he whispered, his warm breath caressing her neck. “Enjoy what you are feeling.”

“I…” She couldn’t speak because the clenching sensation in her womb began to spread through her entire body, sending a flood of liquid warmth flowing to her core. An aching need to be filled began and she rocked back and forth over his hand, pleasuring herself on him.

The Englishman chuckled softly, and removed his hand. “Not so fast, my sweet one, we have all night.”

His hands traveled down the inside of her thighs, to her knees. Her breath came in short, shallow bursts, perplexing her. “I was taught to pleasure my master. No one told me I would find such pleasure in my master’s touch.”

He lifted one of her feet and placed it between his knees on the chair. “Then your instructor did you a grave disservice.” His hands caressed her calf and lower, to her ankle, where he untied and removed the gold sandal she wore. When he finished, he did the same with her other leg. Once the second sandal was removed, he allowed her foot to remain between his thighs as his hands roamed upward again. His touch trailed sweet excitement and torture over the inside of her calf, knee, and inner thigh, to continue his exquisite exploration of her most private place.

“No man has ever touched you?”

“Never, Your Grace.”

“Ren,” he corrected.

Lia groaned his name as his fingers found her sensitive nub again and began to rub over it with a gentle touch and rhythm that caused a moan to slip from her mouth. Her eyes had long ago closed, and her breathing became ragged as she focused on the pleasure he gave her. Occasionally he would dip a finger or two into her to bring more of her wetness forth. He caused an exquisite torture she prayed would never end. Her entire body thrummed with sensations, all originating under his hand and ending when she fell headfirst into a dizzying vortex that opened up and began to pull her in. Lia moaned as the delicious sensations increased, building up inside her as she spiraled out of control.

When she thought she could take no more, he moved his fingers inside of her and his thumb continued the ministrations on her nub. His other hand cupped her bottom, steadying her as her entire body quivered, then tensed. Lia cried out his name as she shattered into thousands of pieces before collapsing onto him.

He gently slid his fingers out of her, and brought her down onto his lap then wrapped his arms about her, holding her close. That simple act of holding her within his arms, caused her to feel safe and cherished, even if only for the time being. It was something she’d not felt in quite a while, and not something she wanted to lose. She rested her head on his shoulder, and he cradled her while she recovered her strength and breath.

Lifting her in his arms as he stood, he carried her to the turned-down bed, and laid her across it. The sheets were cool, and when he pulled away from her, the night air swept across her heated skin, chilling her. His boots hit the floor with a thud, and she watched as he shed his clothing.