His Desirable Debutante Page 2

  He leaned in as if to lick the errant drop of sauce away, but at the last moment swept it up with a broad index finger then touched the finger to her parted lips. A deep smile of satisfaction covered his mouth when her tongue darted out to lick the drop on his finger.

  She couldn’t believe she was so daring, but inside his candlelit bedroom it was like all the rules had disappeared. Society as a whole was gone, and the world was just Pierce and Helena. They continued in that vein for some minutes with Pierce carefully feeding her, but allowing measured drops of food to fall on her mouth, her chin, and finally, her bosom.

  He spared a rapid glance down at her pale, smooth skin marred only by a glistening drop of sauce. Much as he wanted to bend his head and apply his tongue to the task of removing it, he forced his gaze back up to return Helene’s wide-eyed stare. The rapid rise and fall of her breasts had revealed how affected she was by his treatment. Poor little virgin. When she’d laid claim to innocence, he’d had one tiny doubting moment, but he firmly believed her now. Only a true innocent would be so affected by the simple act of feeding her.

  Not that he could claim to be unaffected himself. He was hard as stone and had been since entering the room and viewing his wife laid out like a feast for his dining pleasure. Her dusky nipples peeked out of the lacy gown he’d dressed her in and if he added some more candles, he knew he’d be able to see the dark shadow of hair at her sweet cunt.

  Though that path was barred to him. Not until she begged and he knew she wanted it as much as he did. His wife should be a willing participant, the opposite of his first bedroom experience. But he was a long way from that scared little boy in the whore’s boudoir, and with a return to concentration, Pierce swiped the last drop off the rise of her breast taking care to brush the hardened, sensitive nub.

  With a hidden smile he lifted the tray off the bed and bid her adieu. “Good night, sweet Helene. I’ll send someone along for the tray shortly.” And without a backward look for his wife, he left, wondering how long he’d manage to stay away.

  How dare he? Helene kicked aside the blankets in a fit of fury, pretending it was her husband’s solid body instead. How could he leave her like this? Bound and aching. She couldn’t possibly be expected to sleep like this.

  “Bastard!” Her yell at the closed door did little to vent her frustration.

  “Well,” an older, sensible-looking woman huffed as she swung through the doorway. “Oh. Oh, my.” She bustled over to the bed clucking her commiseration. “So it’s true then? He’s gone and married. And it’s no wonder you’re shouting up a storm, tied up the way you are. It’s been more than twenty years since I swatted his bottom, but if that’s what it takes to make him treat his wife with the respect she deserves, I’ll do it.”

  The woman’s appearance had Helene flushing with mortification and scrambling to pull the covers back over her exposed body, a near-impossible task with bound hands. “Who…who are you?”

  “Oh, dearie, I’m the housekeeper. Mrs. Tofty.” She paced the room, shaking a curtain here, plumping a pillow there, clearly agitated. With a head shake she released sigh after sigh. “I wouldn’t have thought it. His own wife.”

  “Mrs. Tofty.”

  “His poor mother. What would she think?”

  “Mrs. Tofty.”

  “I’ve kept my mouth shut all these years. Well, what could I say when he was under his father’s influence, but now…hmmph. I thought he was moving past his wilder days and settling down, and—”

  “Mrs. Tofty!” Helene finally shouted to interrupt the tirade spouting from the housekeeper. “Can you please untie me?”

  Her question served to silence the older woman, but was met with a saddened look and unequivocal denial.

  “I’m so sorry, my dear, or should I say my lady? His lordship would be furious if I disobeyed his wishes. He wouldn’t dismiss me, but he could make my remaining years very unpleasant.” She bit her lip and crushed her apron. “No, I dare not risk it,” she said, more to herself than to Helene. “I’d best go.”

  “No!” begged Helene, then reminded herself that she was now mistress of this house, and held some authority here, even tied up as she was. “Please, stay. Come chat with me.” She patted the space on the foot of the bed with her heel and did her best to look like the elegant lady of the manor rather than the whore she was dressed as.

  Mrs. Tofty stopped in her tracks and turned to perch on the foot of the bed, appearing pleased as punch to be invited to stay. “I dare not stay long,” she warned. “Brandford will be back soon.”

  Helene nodded, grateful for female, motherly company. “Speaking of his lordship, you mentioned his mother. What was she like? And his father, did you know him, as well? And how did you know I was his wife. I could be one of his many lovers.”

  With a sigh, the older woman settled in for a good cozy dish. “First of all, you’re his wife, because he’s never brought one of his harlots to this estate. You’re the first woman in that bed since his lordship’s poor mother. And speaking of…I was just a girl when I met Pierce’s mother. Just come from the village to the main house to work as a junior maid.” She paused, lost in her recollections for a moment, then continued. “I was of an age with Lady Daphne and developed a closeness with her. When she left to marry Lord Brandford, I went with her.” She shuddered at the memory.

  “What? What happened?” She leaned forward, eager to know what terrible fate befell Pierce’s mother to make Mrs. Tofty shudder like that, but masculine voices in the hallway cut off any more revelations.

  The housekeeper jumped off the bed with surprising speed for a woman of her years and was halfway to the door when it opened again.

  Helene’s enigmatic husband appeared in the doorway and nodded at Mrs. Tofty as she exited. “I’ve called for a bath,” he said. “How are your arms feeling?”

  She looked at him in a whole new light, knowing now she was the only woman to grace this bed despite his formidable reputation as a bed hopper. It gave her a strange thrill knowing that little secret, but she couldn’t let him gain such an upper hand this early in the marriage. “How do you think they feel?”

  “I wouldn’t know. I’ve never allowed myself to be tied up.” He smiled as if this was one of his great accomplishments. Like a great hunting cat she’d once seen at an exhibition, he prowled toward the bed. He’d lost his waistcoat and cravat since his last visit and a hint of mysterious masculine skin peeked through the top of his shirt.

  Pierce loosened her bonds even further, allowing her sore arms to drop to her sides from sheer exhaustion. A knock at the door turned her attention and she gaped as Pierce opened the door to a bevy of footmen holding buckets of steaming water.

  “A bath for my lady before this evening’s entertainment?” he asked with a glint in his eye.

  A bath? With him watching? Never. And what did he mean by entertainment? He’d promised not to take her virginity without consent, so that couldn’t be it.

  “No?” He cocked his head at her silence. “Very well. No sense wasting all this warm water. Jenny and Thomas will just have to postpone their show until tomorrow.” His arms crossed at the bottom of his waist and tugged his shirt out of his trousers and up over his head. “Gerrit, come assist me,” he called into the next room.

  She tried, she truly did, not to watch Pierce disrobe, and as more masculine skin surfaced she clenched the bedsheets at her sides.

  A young, tall footman entered. Presumably Gerrit, his valet, but he was like no valet she’d ever seen with his white-blond hair and golden skin.

  “My lord?” Gerrit stepped up to Pierce, who sat on the end of the bed, and yanked off his boots in one easy pull. “Shall I assist you in your bath?”

  “Yes.” He turned his back to her and spoke quietly to the valet so she couldn’t hear his words. The two men of equal height stood, heads bent close, her husband’s dark, the valet’s golden blond. Her breath caught as Gerrit unbuttoned the front of Pierce’s trousers and rolled
them down revealing nearly sheer underclothes showing teasing hints of his masculine staff.

  She should look away. Immediately. Her descent to ruin would be complete if she stayed her gaze, but her eyes remained riveted as Gerrit pulled off even more of Pierce’s clothes till he stood totally nude next to the bathtub. Her legs shifted restlessly against the mattress at the sight of his muscular chest and powerful thighs. It only got worse when Pierce lowered himself into the tub and Gerrit removed his own coat and kneeled before the tub.

  Look away, look away, Helene told herself furiously but her eyes remained glued to the sight before her.

  Pierce rested his head back as Gerrit circled the soapy cloth over his shoulders and down to his chest. The hardness of his cock owed little to the attentions of the young valet and everything to the fascinated woman perched on the bed. His wife. A young innocent. Who would have thought that he, a completely debauched boor could hold any semblance of protective feelings toward a virgin? Certainly not anyone else in London, and yet here he was moving at a snail’s pace in the seduction of his wife for fear of bruising her tender feelings and traumatizing her the way he’d lost his innocence.

  “My lord?” Gerrit said. “Would you like me to assist?” He indicated Pierce’s cock with his bathing cloth. Both of them stared at his throbbing groin for an endless minute before he came to his senses. “No. I’ll take it from here. You may leave.” He wanted to arouse his bride, not send her fleeing to the nearest neighbor. If he played his cards right, someday she would be ready to participate in his little games with willing servants, but not yet.

  For now, he lowered a hand down to his aching shaft and stroked from balls to tip. The picture of his nearly nude wife lying nearby served as glorious inspiration. He quickened his strokes and chanced a sideways glance at Helene. To his shock she stared wide-eyed, her face devoid of any color. She was so pale, he feared her fainting, but her eyes remained locked on him, and in particular, his hand on his groin.

  “Stop it,” she said, but without real conviction.

  “No. I’m too close to stop, but I will share the task if you want to lend a hand?” He stood up in the tub in one swift move, daring her to look away, hoping she did not. His brave wife kept watching, but sadly did not offer to touch. He stepped out of the tub and closer to the bed, close enough to feel the heat from her body and smell her arousal.

  “You’re depraved,” Helene said. “Don’t you know it’s the height of immorality to touch yourself?”

  “So I’ve been told,” he said, curious about her reaction. She hadn’t looked away as he’d expected and seemed enticed by his nudity, but her curiosity was tinged with shame at his self-pleasuring. Interesting, as she’d done nothing to be shameful of…unless…she had.

  “Doesn’t that matter to you?”

  “Not particularly,” he said. “I don’t generally give a damn of what others think. I do what makes me feel good.” And speaking of feeling good, he continued stroking his member, moving inches closer to Helene.

  “A true hedonist and sinner then?”

  “If that’s how you choose to look at it?” She was a tangle of appearances. Aroused and intrigued yet angry and scared. How to calm her and focus her on just the arousal?

  “Well, what of love and marriage?” she asked. “Why bother with my pleasure, if you plan on running off to other lovers at any time?”

  A good question and one he hadn’t contemplated before sweeping his bride to his ancestral home. During his wife search, it had been easy to imagine abandoning his faceless wife, but now that his wife was Helene, something fundamental had shifted. His old life lost some of its luster, and his wife’s siren call beckoned. His hand dropped off his cock still standing at attention. With an inward curse, he strode to Helene’s side and untied her.

  “Well?” she asked. “What now? Are you going to renege and force yourself on me anyway?” Her arms crossed over her chest, hands briskly rubbing her shoulders.

  “No. I honor my word, but you’re right,” he said. “I was being a selfish ass.” He’d been so intent on fulfilling his mother’s request, he’d neglected to consider the feelings of his intended bride, a bride who from all appearances now hated him due to his ill treatment. “I shouldn’t have bound you and forced seduction on you.” He ruthlessly squashed the childish emotion inside him crying out for Helene’s affection.

  Christ, where had this streak of chivalry come from? Every other man he knew would have bedded his wife on the wedding night and would now be contemplating how soon to leave for the mistress’s apartment. How in hell had he, the most notorious bastard in Britain, ended up coddling his virginal wife?

  A wife who continued to stare at him silently, wariness edging out hostility.

  “If it means that much to you, I’ll let you go. We can arrange for an annulment.” As the words exited his lips, he clenched his fists at his sides. Honor dictated he release Helene, but damn, he didn’t want to.

  Hope filled Helene at Pierce’s words, but then reality set in, and she let out a snort. “An annulment? For us? No one would believe we didn’t consummate the marriage. I’d still be ruined, and you’d become a laughingstock.”

  Brandford turned and grabbed a robe from a wardrobe. Once he was properly covered, he came back and perched next to her on the bed regarding her with a quizzical look. There was something more in his eyes that she didn’t wish to contemplate at this moment. Need? Loneliness? His need was too close to her own for comfort.

  “So what do you suggest we do?” he asked.

  She shrugged, eyeing Brandford. Once again she had landed on an unexpected path and now she’d have to live with the consequences, only this time she wasn’t in it alone. She had a husband now, albeit an unconventional rake of a man, but a partner nonetheless. Could he be trusted with her body, or maybe even…her heart? “I’m not certain, but we’re here together now.”

  Something like relief crossed his face, but was quickly replaced with his customary arrogant mask, which Helene was starting to suspect was exactly that. A mask.

  “Tell, me Brandford, why marry in the first place? I know Lord Ryder believed you wanted to mend bridges with society, but I don’t believe it.”

  “No?” He raised a brow.

  She shook her head. “You would not have chosen me. I was the last maiden who would achieve the goal of repairing your reputation. A dozen other debutantes spring to mind who could’ve helped you more.” She ticked some off on her fingers. “Lady Melissa Matthews, Katherine Rodman-Spencer, Victoria Albright…”

  Pierce visibly shuddered at the last name. “That whey-faced simpering—”

  She cut him off. “We’re getting off topic. Again I ask, why marry me?”

  A lengthy silence fell, during which Pierce crawled fully onto the bed and relaxed against the headboard, arms anchoring the back of his head. His weight sank the mattress, forcing her closer, near enough to smell the soap from his bath. The silk of his robe clung to damp patches on his chest, draping over every intriguing angle of his masculine body.

  “You didn’t fear me,” he said at last. “Every other virginal miss went running for the safety of her parents at my approach. You stood fearlessly and danced with me.”

  “I hid behind a plant,” she protested. “You pulled me onto the floor—what choice did I have?”

  A shift turned his gaze directly on her face. They sat nearly nose to nose “But you danced, and stayed to argue with me. And, in fact, engaged me in conversation at every ball from that night till our wedding day.”

  “Only to tell you to stay away,” she insisted, but his curled lips and raised brow told her he saw right through her protests. The truth was he fascinated her. Here was a man who didn’t give a fig what society thought of him, and if rumors were true, explored every aspect of his sexuality freely. Something she’d only tried once with disastrous results.

  “But eventually you caved and agreed to the marriage. Why? Did your father force your hand?�
�� he asked.

  Papa had railed at her and pushed her toward the marriage, but as she well knew, he was mostly bluster and little bite. “Not exactly.” She chewed on her lower lip debating how much to tell him.

  “Well, what then? With your beauty and dowry, you would eventually have found a man willing to overlook your reputation, and speaking of which…I think the time has come to enlighten me as to the exact nature of your indiscretion, especially since you claim to hold your maidenhood.”

  Her head shot up to beg him not to probe further, but he sat resolute.

  “So, what happened? Did you fondle a footman? Mix it up with your maid?

  “Stop,” she said, unsure of what the last one even meant.

  But Pierce was on a roll and enjoying himself. “Dildo another deb—“

  “Stop,” she repeated, unable to keep the laughter out of her voice. He was truly incorrigible, and that was why she’d agreed to the marriage. When he wasn’t stirring her insides to jelly from lust, he kept her on edge with his outrageous comments and wit.

  Her husband sat up with a jolt and turned to grasp her hands in his. “You can trust me, Helene. There is little in this world I haven’t heard of or tried myself. I doubt your supposed transgression will even register on my list of horrors.”

  She watched him closely, searching for any signs of humor, but she only saw his honesty and his desire to know. Another thought took her mind to five minutes ago when Pierce arose from his bath, hands wrapped around his member. Perhaps he could be trusted.

  With closed eyes, she took a deep breath. “A few years ago, I was the most sought-after debutante. Proposals flew at me, but I didn’t take any of them seriously. I thought to wait for love or…something. All my suitors lacked something, but I didn’t understand what. Now I do.”

  “Passion,” Pierce said.

  She opened one eye. “Correct. So, I decided to take matters into my own hands. I accepted an invitation to a house party knowing that certain gentlemen would be in attendance.”