Seven Nights Of Sin: Seven Sensuous Stories by Bestselling Historical Romance Authors(6)

And she would very much like to enjoy it…with him.





CHAPTER THREE


THE RAIN HAD STOPPED by the time they arrived at Wickham’s townhouse in St. James, where Dev planned to stay until he got his muddled affairs straightened out. It was a mercy, because he was damned tired of the incessant pattering.

The storm had left puddles in Wickham’s mews, so Dev carried Tildy into the house. She was still a little bit damp, but for the most part, her clothes had dried on the ride to town.

His appearance was not a surprise to Wickham’s butler, Bronson, who was enjoying a toddy in the kitchen with Cook as he pushed through the door. Thankfully, Wickham had sent a note to his staff urging them to prepare for company, and as they’d worked for Wickham for some time, they were not unduly alarmed to see a man appear in the kitchen with a woman in his arms.

With a shocking lack of ado, Bronson showed him to his suite, lit a fire and promised to send up a tray for them both. Dev pulled him aside and asked him to prepare a bath as well, because he knew at least one of them would enjoy that. But probably both.

After Bronson left, he turned to Tildy, who wandered through the palatial suite with her hands behind her back.

“This is a lovely room,” she said, studying every aspect of it with great determination. He noticed her fingers were locked together and white.

She was clearly nervous.

That would not do.

“Sit down,” he said, quite congenially, he thought, but she jumped. “Tildy.” A thin smile. “I am not going to pounce on you. Sit.”

“Sit? Why sit? Don’t we need to…?” She flourished a hand.

He had no idea what that manic gesture meant. Or he did. But he wasn’t doing it like that. He was going to take her slowly. He was going to make this last.

And revenge was the least of his motivations. Especially when she stepped before the fire and her form was illuminated more clearly.

He swallowed heavily and tossed himself into one of the chairs, hoping it would incite her to follow suit. “These things take time,” he told her.

She whirled around to gape at him. “They do?”

“Most definitely.”

A snort. “That’s not what I heard.”

He couldn’t help smiling. “And what have you heard, Tildy?”

She tipped her head to the side and scrunched up her nose, which was, all things considered, adorable. “Three minutes. Five at best.”

He tried, very hard, to swallow his hoot of laughter. “Yes. It can be quick like that, but not if one is doing it right. Not if one wants their partner to enjoy it thoroughly. Indeed, to beg.”

She did sit in the chair then, but he suspected it was only so she could stare at him eye to eye. “What is this obsession you have with women begging?” she asked.

He winked. “Trust me. It’s better that way. And anticipation can be the best part. So we are taking this slowly.”

Her nose wrinkled. “Will it take very long?”

“All night, I imagine.”

She paled. “But I want to get this over with. I am nervous, you understand.”

“Of course you are, but if it is to be me, it has to be this way. I have no interest in a hasty coupling.”

She frowned. “A gentleman would respect my apprehension and be quick.”

His laugh was a bark. “Then I am not one, I suppose. You are free to choose another.” Though he did not want her to. He studied his cuff. “Bronson is available tonight, I believe.”

Her dismay was amusing in the extreme. “I think not.”

“So you will stay with me?” Why was there a trill in his belly at the thought?

Her deep sigh burst his satisfaction. “I suppose. But do tell me what will be happening. You know. So I can prepare.”

“Does one prepare for one’s deflowering?”

She went pink to her ears. “I imagine so.” A shrug. “I’ve never done it before.”

Neither had he. But he wasn’t letting lack of experience stop him.

“Very well. Here is what I am envisioning. We are going to have a nice meal and a conversation…and perhaps a little teasing—”

“Teasing?”

“Oh yes. You’ll see. And then, I think you would like a hot bath.”

Her eyes went wide and she shuddered. “A bath?”

“Ready to beg yet?” He had to ask because her expression was so fervent.

In response she smacked his shoulder.

“And then, I think maybe a massage.”

She blinked. “A massage?”

“Mmm hmm.” A nice, slow, seductive massage.

“Those things do sound nice…”

“Of course they do. Making love is exceedingly pleasant.”

Her mouth opened—tempting as it was—and then closed. She looked away.

“What is it, Tildy?” And then when she didn’t answer, “Tildy?”

Again, she wrung her fingers. “Does it hurt?” She peeped at him from beneath her lashes.

He had to be honest. “Sometimes it does.”

“Oh, blast.”

“But I assure you, I shall do my best not to cause you any pain.”

“How on earth can you promise that?”